liSnii 

'Mlfll'li!!!!'!!;! 


|||i|i|i}iii!*i!' i!«ii!ii| 


11  ! 


iiiii! 


\>\\\ 


m 

iiiiiiliiiifi 


iB 

'^ 

na 

ii 

|;li 

S 

!c5| 

i;4t 

m 

iiil 


II 


ii 


ji-ZU 


:? 


o 


RACHEL    GRAY 


Mt 


FOUNDED     ON     FACT. 


■>     \J       3  J  J 


''''•'•  fey    ^     '-''•'' 
JULIA  KAYANAGH, 

*  AUTHOR   OF 

'kathalib,"  "madelkine,"  "gbaoe  lee,"  etc.,  ETa 


NEW  YORK: 
D.    APPLETON    &    COMPANY, 

846  &  348  BROADWAY. 


M.DCCX3.LVL 


Yv/«;^\VfU.\5iW 


^ 


PREFACE. 


This  tale,  as  tlie  title-page  implies,  is 
founded  on  fact.  Its  trutli  is  its  cMef 
merit,  and  tlie  Author  claims  no  other 
share  in  it,  than  that  of  telling  it  to  the 
best  of  her  power. 

I  do  not  mean  to  aver  that  every  word 
is  a  positive  and  literal  truth,  that  every 
incident  occurred  exactly  as  I  have  related 
it,  and  in  no  other  fashion,  but  this  I  mean 
to  say :  that  I  have  invented  nothing  in 
the  character  of  Eachel  Gray,  and  that 
the  sorrows  of  Richard  Jones  are  not 
imaginary  sorrows. 

Ml2Ji5 


.4...... [     ..EREFACE. 

My  purpose  in  giving  this  story  to  the 
"world  is  twofold.  I  have  found  that  my 
first,  and  in  many  respects,  most  imperfect 
work  ^'Madeleine,"  is  nevertheless  that 
which  has  won  the  greatest  share  of  inter- 
est and  sympathy ;  a  result  which  I  may, 
I  think,  safely  attribute  to  its  truth,  and 
which  has  induced  me  to  believe  that  on 
similar  grounds,  a  similar  distinction  might 
be  awarded  to  a  heroine  very  different  in- 
deed from  "  Madeleine,"  but  whose  silent 
virtues  have  perhaps  as  strong  a  claim  to 
admiration  and  respect. 

I  had  also  another  purpose,  and  though 
I  mention  it  last,  it  was  that  which  mainly 
contributed  to  make  me  intrude  on  public 
attention;  I  wished  to  show  the  intellec- 
tual, the  educated,  the  fortunate,  that 
minds  which  they  are  apt  to  slight  as  nar- 
row, that  lives  which  they  pity  as  moving 
in  the  straight  and  gloomy  paths  of  medi- 


REFACE.  5 

ocrity,  are  often  blessed  and  graced  beyond 
the  usual  lot,  witli  tliose  lovely  aspirations 
towards  better  deeds  and  immortal  tHngs, 
without  wbicli  life  is  indeed  a  thing  of 
little  worth ;  cold  and  dull  as  a  sunless  day. 

Julia  Kavanagh. 

London,  December^  1855. 


R^OHEL     aH^Y, 


CHAPTER    I. 

In  one  of  the  many  little  suburbs  which  ; 
cling  to  the  outskirts  of  London,  there  is  a  silent 
and  grass-grown  street,  of  aspect  both  quiet  and 
quaint.  The  houses  are  crazy,  old,  and  brown, 
of  every  height  and  every  size  ;  many  are  un- 
tenanted. Some  years  ago  one  was  internally 
destroyed  by  fire.  It  was  not  thought  worth 
rebuilding.  There  it  still  stands,  gaunt  and 
grim,  looking  for  all  the  world,  with  its  broken 
or  dust-stained  windows,  like  a  town  deserted 
after  a  sacking. 

This  street  is  surrounded  by  populous  courts 
and  alleys,  by  stirring  thoroughfares,  by  roads 


8  RACHEL   GRAY. 

full  of  activity  and  commerce ;  yet  sometow  or 
other,  all  the  noise  of  life,  all  its  tumult  and 
agitation,  here  seem  to  die  away  to  silence  and 
repose.  Few  people,  even  amongst  the  poor, 
and  the  neighbourhood  is  a  poor  one,  care  to  re- 
side in  it,  while  they  can  be  lodged  as  cheaply 
close  by,  and  more  to  their  taste.  Some  think 
that  the  old  square  at  the  end,  with  its  ancient, 
nodding  trees,  is  close  and  gloomy  ;  others  have 
heard  strange  noises  in  the  house  that  has  suf- 
fered from  fire,  and  are  sure  it  is  haunted  ;  and 
some  again  do  not  like  the  silent,  deserted  look 
of  the  place,  and  cannot  get  over  the  fancy  that, 
if  no  one  will  live  in  it,  it  must  be  because  it  is 
unlucky.  And  thus  it  daily  decays  more  and 
more,  and  daily  seems  to  grow  more  silent. 

The  appearance  of  the  few  houses  that  are 
inhabited,  says  little  in  favour  of  this  unfortu- 
nate street.  In  one,  a  tailor  has  taken  up  his 
abode.  He  is  a  pale,  serious  man,  who  stitches 
at  his  board  in  the  window  the  whole  day  long, 
cheered  by  the  occasional  song  of  a  thrush,  hop- 
ping in  its  osier  cage.     This  tailor,  Samuel 


RACHEL   GRAY.  9 

Mopkins  yclept,  lives  by  repairing  damaged 
vestments.  He  once  made  a  coat,  and  boasts — 
with  bow  much  truth  is  known  to  his  own  heart 
— that  he  likewise  cut  out,  fashioned,  and  fitted, 
a  pair  of  blue  nether  garments.  Farther  on,  at 
the  corner  of  the  square,  stands  the  house  of 
Mrs.  Adams,  an  aged  widow,  who  keeps  a  small 
school,  which,  on  her  brass  board,  she  em- 
phatically denominates  her  "  Establishment  for 
Young  Ladies.''  This  house  has  an  unmistake- 
able  air  of  literary  dirt  and  neglect ;  the  area 
and  kitchen  windows  are  encumbered  with  the 
accumulated  mud  and  dust  of  years  ;  from  the 
attic  casement,  a  little  red-haired  servant-girl  is 
ever  gaping;  and  on  hot  summer  afternoons, 
when  the  parlour  windows  are  left  open,  there 
is  a  glimpse  within  of  a  dingy  school-mistress, 
and  still  more  dingy  school-room,  with  a  few 
pupils  who  sit  stragghngon  half-a-dozen  benches, 
conning  their  lessons  with  a  murmuring  hum. 

With  one  exception,  there  is  no  other  sign 
of  commerce,  trade,  or  profession  in  the  whole 
street.     For  all  an  outward  glance  can  reveal  to 
1* 


10  RACHEL    GRAY. 

the  contraiy,  the  people  who  live  there  are  so 
very  rich  that  they  do  not  need  to  work  at  all, 
or  so  very  genteel  in  their  decay,  that  if  they  do 
work,  they  must  do  it  in  a  hidden,  skulking, 
invisible  sort  of  fashion,  or  else  be  irretrievably 
disgraced. 

The  solitary  exception  to  which  we  have  al- 
luded, exists,  or  rather  existed,  for  though  we 
speak  in  the  present,  we  write  in  the  past  by 
some  years,  in  one  of  the  smallest  houses  in  the 
street.  A  little  six-roomed  house  it  was,  exact- 
ly facing  the  dreary  haunted  mansion,  and  ex- 
posed to  all  the  noises  aforesaid.  It  was,  also, 
to  say  the  truth,  an  abode  of  poor  and  mean 
aspect.  In  the  window  hung  a  dressmaker's 
board,  on  which  was  modestly  inscribed,  with  a 
list  of  prices,  the  name  of — 

"  Kachel  Gray." 

It  was  accompanied  with  patterns  of  yellow 
paper  sleeves,  trimmed  in  every  colour,  an  old 
book  of  fashions,  and  beautiful  and  bright,  as 
if  reared  in  wood  or  meadow,  a  pot  of  yellow 


RACHEL    GRAY.  11 

crocuses  in  bloom.  They  were  closing  now,  for 
evening  was  drawing  in,  and  they  knew  the 
hour. 

They  had  opened  to  light  in  the  dingy  par- 
lour within,  and  which  we  will  now  enter.  It 
was  but  a  little  room,  and  the  soft  gloom  of  a 
spring  twilight  half-filled  it.  The  furniture, 
though  poor  and  old-fashioned,  was  scrupulously 
clean  ;  and  it  shone  again  in  the  flickering  fire- 
light. A  few  discoloured  prints  in  black  frames 
hung  against  the  walls  ;  two  or  three  broken 
china  ornaments  adorned  the  wooden  mantel- 
shelf, which  was,  moreover,  decorated  with  a 
little  dark-looking  mirror  in  a  rim  of  tarnished 
gold. 

By  the  fire  an  elderly  woman  of  grave  and 
stern  aspect,  but  who  had  once  been  handsome, 
sat  reading  the  newspaper.  Near  the  window, 
two  apprentices  sewed,  under  the  superintend- 
ence of  Eachel  Gray. 

A  mild  ray  of  light  fell  on  her  pale  face,  and 
bending  figure.  She  sewed  on,  serious  and  still, 
and  the  calm  gravity  of  her  aspect  harmonized 


12  RACHEL   GRAY. 

with  the  silence  of  the  little  parlour  which 
nothing  disturhedj  save  the  ticking  of  an  old 
clock  behind  the  door,  the  occasional  rustling 
of  Mrs.  Grray's  newspaper,  and  the  continuous 
and  monotonous  sound  of  stitching. 

Eachel  Gray  looked  upwards  of  thirty,  yet 
she  was  younger  by  some  years.  She  was  a  tall, 
thin,  and  awkward  woman,  sallow  and  faded 
before  her  time.  She  was  not,  and  had  never 
been  handsome,  yet  there  was  a  patient  serious- 
ness in  the  lines  of  her  face,  which,  when  it 
caught  the  eye,  arrested  it  at  once,  and  kept  it 
long.  Her  brow,  too,  was  broad  and  intellec- 
tual ;  her  eyes  were  very  fine,  though  their  look 
was  dreamy  and  abstracted ;  and  her  smile, 
when  she  did  smile,  which  was  not  often,  for 
she  was  slightly  deaf  and  spoke  little,  was 
pleasant  and  very  sweet. 

She  sewed  on,  as  we  have  said,  abstracted 
and  serious,  when  gradually,  for  even  in  observa- 
tion she  was  slow,  the  yellow  crocuses  attracted 
her  attention.  She  looked  at  them  meditatively, 
and  watched  them  closing,  with  the  decline  of 


RACHEL   GRAY.  13 

day.  And,  at  lengtli,  as  if  she  liad  not  under- 
stood, until  then,  what  was  going  on  before  her, 
she  smiled  and  admiringly  exclaimed  : 

"  Now  do  look  at  the  creatures,  mother  !  " 

Mrs.  Gray  glanced  up  from  her  newspaper, 
and  snuffed  rather  disdainfully. 

"  Lawk,  Eachel  !  "  she  said,  "  you  don't 
mean  to  call  crocuses  creatures — do  you  ?  I'U 
tell  you  what  though,"  she  added,  with  a  doleful 
shake  of  the  head,  "I  don't  know  what  Her 
Majesty  thinks  ;  but  I  say  the  country  can't 
stand  it  much  longer." 

Mrs.  Gray  had  been  cook  in  a  Prime  Minis- 
ter's household,  and  this  had  naturally  given  her 
a  political  turn. 

"  The  Lord  has  taught  you,"  murmured 
Rachel,  bending  over  the  flowers  with  something 
like  awe,  and  a  glow  spread  over  her  sallow 
cheek,  and  there  came  a  light  to  her  large  brown 
eyes. 

Of  the  two  apprentices — one  a  sickly,  fret- 
ful girl  of  sixteen,  heard  her  not ;  she  went  on 
sewing,  and  the  very  way  in  which  she  drew  her 


14  RACHEL   GRAY. 

needle  and  thread  was  peevish.  The  other  ap- 
prentice did  hear  Kachel,  and  she  looked  or 
rather  stared  at  the  dress-maker,  with  grim 
wonder.  Indeed,  there  was  something  particu- 
larly grim  about  this  young  maiden — a  drear 
stolidity  that  defies  describing.  A  pure  Saxon 
she  was — no  infusion  of  Celtic,  or  Danish,  or 
Norman  blood  had  lightened  the  native  weight 
of  her  nature.  She  was  young,  yet  she  already 
went  through  life  settling  everything,  and  living 
in  a  moral  tower  of  most  uninviting  aspect. 
But  though  Jane  settled  everything,  she  did  not 
profess  to  understand  everything  ;  and  when,  as 
happened  every  now  and  then,  Kachel  Gray 
came  out  with  such  remarks  as  that  above  re- 
corded, Jane  felt  confounded.  "  She  couldn't 
make  out  Miss  Gray — that  she  couldn't.'' 

"  I'm  so  tired  !  "  peevishly  said  Mary,  the 
fretful  apprentice. 

At  once  Kachel  kindly  observed  :  "  Put  by 
your  work,  dear." 

Again  Mrs.  Gray  snuffed,  and  came  out 
with  :  "  Lawk  !  she's  always  grummy  !  " 


KACHEL    GRAY.  15 

Mary  tossed  away  lier  work,  folded  her  arms, 
and  looked  sullen.  Jane,  the  grim  apprentice, 
drew  her  needle  and  thread  twice  as  fast  as  be- 
fore. "  Thank  Heaven  !  "  she  piously  thought, 
"  I  am  not  lazy,  nor  sickly,  and  I  can't  see  much 
difference  between  the  two — that  I  canH." 

KacheFs  work  lay  in  her  lap  ;  she  sat  looking 
at  the  crocuses  until  she  fell  in  a  dream  far  in 
the  past. 

For  the  past  is  our  realm,  free  to  all,  high  or 
low,  who  wish  to  dwell  in  it."  There  we  may 
set  aside  the  bitterness  and  the  sorrow ;  there 
we  may  choose  none  but  the  pleasing  visions, 
the  bright,  sunny  spots  where  it  is  sweet  to 
linger.  The  Future,  fair  as  Hope  may  make  it, 
is  a  dream,  we  claim  it  in  vain.  The  Present, 
harsh  or  delightful,  must  be  endured,  yet  it  flies 
from  us  before  we  can  say  "  it  is  gone."  But 
the  Past  is  ours  to  call  up  at  our  wiQ.  It  is 
vivid  and  distinct  as  truth.  In  good  and  in 
evil  it  is  irrevocable  ;  the  divine  seal  has  been 
set  upon  it  for  evermore. 

In  that  Book — a  pure  and  holy  one  was 


16  RACHEL    GRAY. 

hers — though  not  without  a  few  dark  and  sad 
pages — Kachel  Gray  often  read.  And  now,  the 
sight  of  the  yellow  flower  of  spring  took  her 
back  to  a  happy  day  of  her  childhood.  She  saw 
herself  a  little  girl  again,  with  her  younger 
sister  Jane,  and  the  whole  school  to  which  they 
belonged,  out  on  a  hohday  treat  in  a  green  forest. 
Near  that  forest  there  was  a  breezy  field  ;  and 
there  it  was  that  Eachel  first  saw  the  yellow 
crocuses  bloom.  She  remembered  her  joy,  her 
dehght  at  the  wonderful  beauty  of  the  wild  field 
flowers — how  she  and  Jane  heaped  their  laps 
with  them,  and  sat  down  at  the  task  ;  and  how, 
when  tired  with  the  pleasant  labour,  they  rested, 
as  many  yellow  crocuses  as  before  seemed  to 
blow  and  play  in  the  breeze  around  them.  And 
she  remembered,  too,  how,  even  then,  there 
passed  across  her  childish  mind,  a  silent  wonder 
at  their  multitude,  an  undefined  awe  for  the 
power  of  the  Almighty  Hand  who  made  the 
little  flower,  and  bade  it  bloom  in  the  green 
fields,  beneath  the  misty  azure  of  a  soft  spring 
sky. 


RACHEL   GRAY.  17 

And  then  swiftly  followed  other  thoughts. 
Where  was  little  blue-eyed  Jane,  her  younger 
sister,  her  little  companion  and  friend  ?  Sleep- 
ing in  a  London  grave,  far  from  the  pleasant  and 
sunny  spots  where  God's  wild  flowers  bloom. 
And  she — why  she  was  pursuing  her  path  in 
life,  doing  the  will  of  Grod  Almighty. 

"  And  what  more,''  thought  Kachel,  "  can  I 
hope  or  wish  for  ?  " 

"  Now  Kachel,  what  are  you  moping  about  ?  " 
tartly  asked  her  mother,  who,  though  half  blind, 
had  a  quick  eye  for  her  daughter's  meditative 
fits. 

Abruptly  fled  the  dream.  The  childish 
memories,  the  holy  remembrance  of  the  dead, 
sank  back  once  more  to  their  quiet  resting-place 
in  Kachel's  heart.  Wakening  up  with  a  half- 
frightened  start,  she  hastily  resumed  her  work. 

"  I  don't  think  there  ever  was  such  a 
moper  as  that  girl,"  grumbled  Mrs.  Gray  to 
herself. 

Kachel  smiled  cheerfully  in  her  mother's 
face.     But  as  to  telling  her  that  she  had  been 


18  RACHEL   GRAY. 

thinking  of  the  yellow  crocuses,  and  of  the 
spots  they  grew  in,  and  of  the  power  and 
greatness  and  glory  of  Him  who  made  them, 
Kachel  did  not  dream  of  it. 

"  There's  Mrs.  Brown,"  said  Mrs.  G-ray,  as 
a  dark  figure  passed  by  the  window.  "  Go, 
and  open  the  door,  Mary.'' 

Mary  did  not  stir,  upon  which  Jane  offi- 
ciously rose  and  said,  "  I'll  go."  She  went, 
and  in  came,  or  rather  bounced,  Mrs.  Brown 
— a  short,  stout,  vulgar-looking  woman  of 
fifty  or  so,  who  at  once  filled  the  room  with 
noise. 

'^  La,  Mrs.  Gray  !  "  she  began  breathlessly, 
"  What  do  you  think  ?  There's  a  new  one. 
I  have  brought  you  the  paper ;  third  column, 
second  page,  first  article,  ^  The  Church  in  a 
Mess.'  I  thought  you'd  like  to  see  it.  Well, 
Kachel,  and  how  are  you  getting  on?  Mrs. 
James's  dress  don't  fit  her  a  bit,  and  she  says 
shell  not  give  you  another  stitch  of  work ; 
but  la !  you  don't  care — do  you  ?  Why, 
Mary,  how  yellow  you  look  to-day.     I  declare 


KACHEL   GRAY.  19 

you're  as  yellow  as  the  crocuses  in  the  pot. 
Ain't  she  now,  Jane?  And  so  you're  not 
married  yet — are  you,  my  girl?"  she  added, 
giving  the  grim  apprentice  a  slap  on  the  back. 

Jane  eyed  her  quietly. 

"  You'd  better  not  do  that  again,  Mrs. 
Brown,"  she  said,  with  some  sternness,  "  and 
as  to  getting  married  :  why,  s'pose  you  mind 
your  own  business !  " 

Mrs.  Brown  threw  herself  back  in  her 
chair,  and  laughed  until  the  tears  ran  down 
her  face.  When  she  recovered,  it  was  to 
address  Mrs.  Gray. 

"  La,  Mrs.  Gray  !  can't  you  find  it  ?  "  she 
said.  "  Why,  I  told  you,  third  column,  se- 
cond page,  '  The  Church  in  a  Mess.'  You 
can't  miss.     I  have  put  a  pin  in  it." 

Spite  of  this  kind  attention,  Mrs.  Gray  had 
not  found  "  The  Church  in  a  Mess." 

"  Lawk,  Mrs.  Brown ! "  she  said,  impa- 
tiently, "  Where's  the  use  of  always  raking  up 
them  sort  of  things  !  The  badness  of  others 
don't  make  us  good — does  it  ?    It's  the  taxes 


20  BACHEL   GRAY. 

I  tliink  of,  Mrs.  Brown;  it's  tlie  taxes! 
Now,  Kacliel,  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"I  am  going  to  take  home  this  work, 
mother." 

Unable  to  find  fault  with  this,  Mrs.  Gray- 
muttered  to  herself.  She  was  not  ill-natured, 
but  fault-finding  was  with  her  an  inveterate 
habit. 

"  La  !  what  a  muff  that  girl  of  yours  is, 
Mrs.  Grray  ! "  charitably  observed  Mrs.  Brown, 
as  Kachel  left  the  room.  For  Mrs.  Brown, 
beiQg  Mrs.  Gray's  cousin,  landlady,  and 
neighbour,  took  the  right  to  say  everything 
she  pleased. 

"  She  ain't  particlerly  bright,"  confessed 
Mrs.  Gray,  poking  the  fire,  "  but  you  see, 
Mrs.  Brown — " 

Kachel  closed  the  door,  and  heard  no  more. 
"Whilst  Mrs.  Brown  was  talking,  she  had  been 
tying  up  her  parcel.  She  now  put  on  her 
bonnet  and  cloak,  and  went  out. 

It  is  sweet,  after  the  toil  of  a  day,  to 
breathe  fresh  air,  London  air  even  though  it 


BACHEL  GRAY.  21 

should  be.  •  It  is  sweet,  after  tlie  long  close- 
ness of  the  work-room,  to  walk  out  and  feel 
the  sense  of  Hfe  and  liberty.  A  new  being 
seemed  poured  into  Kachel  as  she  went  on. 

"  I  wonder  people  do  not  like  this  street/' 
she  thought,  pausing  at  the  corner  to  look 
back  on  the  grey,  quiet  line  she  was  leaving 
behind.  "  They  call  it  dull,  and  to  me  it  is  so 
calm  and  sweet.''  And  she  sighed  to  enter 
the  noisy  and  populous  world  before  her.  She 
hastily  crossed  it,  and  only  slackened  her  pace 
when  she  reached  the  wide  streets,  the  man- 
sions with  gardens  to  them,  the  broad  and  si- 
lent squares  of  the  west  end.  She  stopped 
before  a  handsome  house,  the  abode  of  a  rich 
lady  who  occasionally  employed  her,  because 
she  worked  cheaper  than  a  fashionable  dress- 
maker, and  as  well. 

Mrs.  Moxton  was  engaged — visitors  were 
with  her — Kachel  had  to  wait — she  sat  in  the 
hall.  A  stylish  footman,  who  quickly  detected 
that  she  was  shy  and  nervous,  entertained 
himself  and  his  companions,  by  making   her 


22  RACHEL   GRAY. 

ten  times  more  so.  His  speech  was  rude — 
his  jests  were  insolent.  Kachel  was  meek 
and  humble ;  but  she  could  feel  insult ; 
and  that  pride,  from  which  few  of  God's 
creatures  are  free,  rose  within  her,  and 
flushed  her  pale  cheek  with  involuntary  dis- 
pleasure. 

At  length,  the  infliction  ceased.  Mrs.  Mox- 
ton's  visitors  left ;  Kachel  was  called  in.  Her 
first  impulse  had  been  to  complain  of  the 
footman  to  his  mistress ;  but  mercy  checked 
the  temptation  ;  it  might  make  him  lose  his 
place.  Poor  Kachel !  she  little  knew  that  this 
footman  could  have  been  insolent  to  his  mis- 
tress herself,  had  he  so  chosen.  He  was  six 
foot  three,  and,  in  his  livery  of  brown  and  gold, 
look  splendid.  In  short,  he  was  invaluable, 
and  not  to  be  parted  with  on  any  account. 

Mrs.  Moxton  was  habitually  a  well-bred, 
good-natured  woman  ;  but  every  rule  has  its 
exceptions.  Kachel  found  her  very  much  out 
of  temper.  To  say  the  truth,  one  of  her  re- 
cent visitors  was  in   the  Mrs.   Brown   style  ; 


RACHEL   GRAY.  23 

Mrs.  Moxton  liad  been  provoked  and  irritated  ; 
and  Racliel  paid  for  it. 

"  Now,  Miss  Gray/'  she  said,  with  solemn 
indignation,  "what  do  you  mean  by  bringing 
back  work  in  this  style  ?  That  flounce  is  at 
least  an  inch  too  high  !  I  thought  you  an  in- 
telligent young  person — but  really,  really  !  " 

"  It's  very  easily  altered,  ma'am,"  said 
Eachel,  submissively. 

"  You  need  not  trouble,"  gravely  repHed 
Mrs.  Moxton.  "  I  owe  you  something ;  you 
may  call  with  your  bill  to-morrow." 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  call  to-morrow, 
ma'am  ;  and  if  it  were  convenient  now — " 

"'  It  is  not  convenient  now  ! "  said  Mrs. 
Moxton,  rather  haughtily.  She  thought 
Rachel  the  most  impertinent  creature  she 
had  ever  met  with — that  is  to  say,  next  to  that 
irritating  Mrs.  Maberly,  who  had  repeated 
that  provoking  thing  about  Mr.  So-and-So. 
Eachel  sighed  and  left  the  house.  Like  aU 
shy  persons,  she  was  easily  depressed.  It  was 
night  when  she  stood  once  more  in  the  street. 


24  KACHEL  GRAY. 

Above  the  pale  outline  of  the  houses  spread  a 
sky  of  dark  azure.  A  star  shone  in  it,  a  little 
star ;  but  it  burned  with  as  brilliant  a  light 
as  any  great  planet.  Rachel  gazed  at  it  ear- 
nestly, and  the  shadow  passed  away.  "  What 
matter  I "  she  thought,  "  even  though  a  man 
in  livery  made  a  jest  of  me — even  though  a 
lady  in  silk  was  scornful.  What  matter  !  God 
made  that  star  for  me  as  well  as  for  her ! 
Besides,"  she  added,  checking  a  thought 
which  might,  she  feared,  be  too  proud, 
"  besides,  who,  and  what  am  I,  that  I  should 
repine  ?  " 


CHAPTER    II. 

Rachel  went  on ;  but  slie  did  not  turn 
homewards.  She  left  the  broad  and  airy  street^ 
where  Mrs.  Moxton  lived.  She  entered  a 
narrow  one,  long  and  gloomy.  It  led  her  into 
a  large  and  gas-lit  square.  She  crossed  it  with- 
out looking  right  or  left  :  a  thought  led  her 
on  like  a  spell.  Through  streets  and  alleys, 
by  lanes  and  courts — on  she  went,  until  at 
length  she  stood  in  the  heart  of  a  populous 
neighbourhood.  Cars  were  dashing  along  the 
pavement ;  night  vendors  were  screaming  at 
their  stalls,  where  tallow  Hghts  flared  in  the 
night  wind.  Drunken  men  were  shouting  in 
gin  palaces,  wretched  looking  women  were 
coming  out  of  pawnbrokers'  shops,  and  pre- 
cocious London  children  were  pouring  into  a 

2 


26  RACHEL   GRAY. 

theatre,  where  their  morals  were  to  be  im- 
proved, and  their  "understandings  were  to  be 
enlightened,  at  the  moderate  rate  of  a  penny  a 
head. 

Kachel  sighed  at  all  she  saw,  and  divined. 
"  Poor  things  !  "  she  thought,  '^  if  they  only 
knew  better."  Bnt  this  compassionate  feeling 
did  not  exclude  a  sort  of  fear.  Kachel  kept 
as  much  as  she  could  in  the  gloomy  part  of 
the  streets  ;  she  shrank  back  nervously  from 
every  rude  group,  and  thus  she  at  length 
succeeded  in  attracting  the  very  thing  she 
most  wished  to  shun — observation.  Three  or 
four  women,  rushing  out  of  a  pubHc-house, 
caught  sight  of  her  timid  figure.  At  once, 
one  of  them — she  was  more  than  half  intoxi- 
cated— burst  out  into  a  loud  shouting  laugh, 
and,  seizing  KacheFs  arm,  swung  her  round  on 
the  pavement. 

"  Let  me  go  !  "  said  Eachel.  ^'  I  am  in  a 
hurry.''  She  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and 
vainly  tried  to  put  on  the  appearance  of  a 
courage  she  felt  not. 


RACHEL   GRAY.  27 

"  Give  me  something  for  drink  then/'  inso- 
lently said  the  woman. 

Kachers  momentary  fear  was  already  over  ; 
she  had  said  to  herself,  "  and  what  can  happen 
to  me  without  God's  will  ?  "  and  the  thought 
had  nerved  her.  She  looked  very  quietly  at 
the  woman's  flushed  and  bloated  face,  and  as 
quietly  she  said : 

"  You  have  drunk  too  much  already  ;  let 
me  go." 

"  No  I  wont,"  hoarsely  replied  her  tor- 
mentor, and  she  used  language  which,  though 
it  could  not  stain  the  pure  heart  of  her  who 
heard  it,  brought  the  blush  of  anger  and  shame 
to  her  cheek. 

"  Let  me  go  ! "  she  said,  trembling  this 
time  with  indignation. 

"  Yes — yes,  let  the  young  woman  go, 
Molly,"  observed  one  of  the  woman's  com- 
panions who  had  hitherto  looked  on  apathet- 
ically. She  officiously  disengaged  Rachel's 
arm,  whispering  as  she  did  so  :    "  You'd  better 


28  RACHEL    GRAY. 

cut  now — I'll  hold  lier.     Molly's  awful  wlien 
slie's  got  them  fits  on." 

Kachel  hastened  away,  followed  by  the 
derisive  shout  of  the  whole  group.  She 
turned  down  the  first  street  she  found  ;  it  was 
dark  and  silent,  yet  Rachel  did  not  stop  until 
she  reached  the  very  end  of  it ;  then  she 
paused  to  breathe  a  while,  but  when  she  put 
her  hand  in  her  pocket  for  her  handkerchief 
it  was  gone ;  with  it  had  disappeared  her 
purse,  and  two  or  three  shilKngs.  Rachel 
saw  and  understood  it  all — the  friend  of 
Molly,  her  officious  deliverer,  was  a  pick- 
pocket. She  hung  down  her  head  and  sighed, 
dismayed  and  astonished,  not  at  her  loss,  but 
at  the  sin.  "  Ah !  dear  Lord  Jesus,"  she 
thought,  full  of  sorrow,  "  that  thou  shouldst 
thus  be  crucified  anew  by  the  sins  of  thy 
people ! "  Then  followed  the  perplexing 
inward  question :  "  Oh !  why  is  there  so 
much  sin  ?  "  "  God  knows  best,"  was  the  in- 
ward reply,  and  once  more  calm  and  serine, 
Rachel  went  on.     At  first,  she  hardly  knew 


KACHEL    GRAY.  29 

where  slie  was.  She  stood  in  a  dark  thorough- 
fare where  three  streets  met — three  narrow 
streets  that  scarcely  broke  on  the  surrounding 
gloom.  Hesitatingly  she  took  the  first.  It 
happened  to  be  that  which  she  wanted.  When 
Eachel  recognized  it,  her  pace  slackened,  her 
heart  beat,  her  colour  came  and  went,  she 
was  much  moved  ;  she  prayed  too — she  prayed 
with  her  whole  heart,  but  she  walked  very 
slowly.  And  thus  she  reached  at  length  a 
lonely  Httle  street  not  quite  so  gloomy  as  that 
which  she  had  been  following. 

She  paused  at  the  corner  shop  for  a  mo- 
ment. It  was  a  second-hand  ironmonger's ; 
rusty  iron  locks,  and  rusty  tongs  and  shovels, 
and  rusty  goods  of  every  description  kept 
grim  company  to  tattered  books  and  a  few  old 
pictures,  that  had  contracted  an  iron  look 
in  their  vicinity.  A  solitary  gas-light  Ht  the 
whole. 

Kachel  stopped  and  looked  at  the  books, 
and  at  the  pictures,  but  only  for  a  few  seconds. 
If  she  stood  there,  it  was  not  to  gaze  with 


30  RACHEL   GRAY. 

passing  curiosity  on  those  objects ;  slie  knew 
them  all  of  old,  as  she  knew  every  stone  of 
that  street ;  it  was  to  wait  until  the  flush  of 
her  cheek  had  subsided,  and  the  beating  of 
her  heart  had  grown  still. 

At  length  she  went  on.  When  she  reached 
the  middle  of  the  street  she  paused  ;  she  stood 
near  a  dark  house,  shrouded  within  the  gloom 
of  its  doorway.  Opposite  her,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  way,  was  a  small  shop  lit  from 
within.  From  where  she  stood,  Kachel  could 
see  everything  that  passed  in  that  abode. 
A  carpenter  lived  there,  for  the  place  was  full 
of  rough  deal  boards  standing  erect  against 
the  wall,  and  the  floor  was  heaped  high  with 
shavings.  Presently  a  door  within  opened, 
the  master  of  the  shop  entered  it,  and  set 
himself  to  work  by  the  light  of  a  tallow  candle. 
He  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  grey-headed  and 
deeply  wrinkled,  but  strong  and  hale  for  his 
years.  As  he  bent  over  his  work,  the  light 
of  the  candle  vividly  defined  his  angular 
figure  and  sharp  features.     Kachel  looked  at 


RACHEL   GRAY.  31 

him ;  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  she  hrushed 
them  away  with  her  hand,  for  they  prevented 
her  from  seeing,  but  they  returned  thicker  and 
faster. 

"  Oh  !  my  father,  my  father  !  "  she  cried 
within  her  heart,  "  why  must  I  stand  here  in 
darkness  looking  at  you?  why  cannot  I  go 
in  to  you,  like  other  daughters  to  their  father  ? 
why  do  you  not  love  your  child  ? ''  Her  heart 
seemed  full  to  bursting  ;  her  eyes  overflowed, 
her  breathing  was  broken  by  sobs,  and  in  the 
simple  and  pathetic  words  of  Scripture,  she 
turned  away  her  head,  and  raised  her  voice  and 
wept  aloud. 

Rachel  Gray  was  the  daughter  of  the  grey- 
headed carpenter  by  a  first  wife  ;  soon  after 
whose  death  he  had  married  again.  Mrs.  Gray 
was  his  second  wife,  and  the  mother  of  his 
youngest  daughter.  She  was  kind  in  her  way, 
but  ^that  was  at  the  best  a  harsh  one.  Rachel 
was  a  timid,  retiring  child,  plain,  awkward, 
and  sallow,  with  nothing  to  attract  the  eye, 
and  little   to  please   the  fancy.      Mrs.  Gray 


32  RACHEL   GRAY. 

did  not  use  lier  ill  certainly,  but  neither  did 
slie  give  her  any  great  share  in  her  affections. 
And  why  and  how  should  a  step-mother  have 
loved  Kachel  when  her  own  father  did  not? 
when  almost  from  her  birth  she  had  been  to 
him  as  though  she  did  not  exist — as  a  being 
who,  uncalled  for  and  unwanted,  had  come 
athwart  his  life.  Never  had  he,  to  her  know- 
ledge, taken  her  in  his  arms,  or  on  his  knee  ; 
never  had  he  kissed  or  caressed  her ;  never 
addressed  to  her  one  word  of  fondness,  or  even 
of  common  kindness.  Neither,  it  is  true,  had 
he  ill-used  nor  ill-treated  her  ;  he  felt  no  un- 
natural aversion  for  his  own  flesh  and  blood, 
nothing  beyond  a  deep  and  incurable  indiffer- 
ence. For  her,  his  heart  remained  as  a  barren 
and  arid  soil  on  which  the  sweet  flower  of  love 
could  never  bloom. 

There  was  but  one  being  in  this  narrow  circle 
who  really  and  fondly  loved  Kachel  Gray. 
And  this  was  Jane,  her  little  half  sister. 
Kachel  was  her  elder  by  full  Rve  years.  When 
she  was  told  one  morning  that  Jane  was  born, 


KACHEL    GRAY.  33 

she  heard  the  tidings  with  silent  awe,  then 
with  eager  curiosity,  climbed  up  on  a  chair  to 
peep  at  the  rosy  babe  fast  asleep  in  its  cradle. 
From  that  day,  she  had  but  one  thought — 
her  little  sister.  How  describe  the  mingled 
love  and  pride  with  which  Eachel  received 
the  baby,  when  it  was  first  confided  to  her 
care,  and  when  to  her  was  allotted  the  deKght- 
fal  task  of  dragging  about  in  her  arms  a  heavy, 
screaming  child?  And  who  but  Kachel  found 
Jane's  first  tooth?  Who  but  Rachel  taught 
Jane  to  speak,  and  taught  her  how  to  walk  ? 
Who  else  fulfilled  for  the  helpless  infant  and 
wilful  child  every  little  office  of  kindness  and 
of  love,  until  at  length  there  woke  in  her  own 
childish  heart  some  of  that  maternal  fondness 
born  with  woman,  the  feeling  whence  her 
deepest  woes  and  her  highest  happiness  alike 
must  spring.  When  her  father  was  unkind, 
when  her  step-mother  was  hasty,  Rachel  turned 
for  comfort  to  her  httle  sister.  In  her  childish 
caresses,  and  words,  and  ways,  she  found  solace 
and  consolation.     She  did  not  feel  it  hard  that 


34  BACHEL   GRAY. 

she  was  to  be  the  slave  of  a  spoiled  child,  to 
wash,  comb,  and  dress  her,  to  work  for  her,  to 
carry  her,  to  sing  to  her,  to  play  with  her,  and 
that,  not  when  she  liked,  but  when  it  pleased 
Jane.  All  this  Kachel  did  not  mind — Jane 
loved  her.  She  knew  it,  she  was  sure  of  it : 
and  where  there  is  love,  there  cannot  be 
tyranny. 

Thus  the  two  sisters  grew  up  together, 
until  one  day,  without  previous  warning,  Thomas 
Gray  went  off  to  America,  and  coolly  left  his 
wife  and  children  behind.  Mrs.  Gray  was  a 
good  and  an  upright  woman;  she  reared  her 
husband's  child  like  her  own,  and  worked  for 
both,  without  ever  repining  at  the  double  bur- 
den. "When  her  husband  returned  to  England, 
after  three  years'  absence,  Mrs.  Gray  lost  no 
time  in  compelling  him  to  grant  her  a  weekly 
allowance  for  herself,  and  for  the  support  of 
her  children.  Thomas  Gray  could  not  resist 
the  claim  ;  but  he  gave  what  the  law  compelled 
him  to  give,  and  no  more.     He  never  returned 


RACHEL   GRAY.  35 

to  live  with  his  wife  ;  he  never  expressed  a 
wish  to  see  either  of  his  daughters. 

He  had  been  back  some  years  when  little 
Jane  died  at  thirteen.  She  died,  dreaming  of 
heaven,  with  her  hand  in  that  of  Kachel,  and 
her  head  on  Eachers  bosom.  She  died,  bless- 
ing her  eldest  sister  with  her  last  breath,  with 
love  for  her  in  the  last  look  of  her  blue  eyes, 
in  the  last  smile  of  her  wan  lips.  It  was  a 
happy  death-bed — one  to  waken  hope,  not  to 
call  forth  sorrow  ;  and  yet  what  became  of  the 
life  of  Kachel  when  Jane  was  gone  ?  For  a 
long  time  it  was  a  dreary  void — a  melancholy 
succession  of  days  and  weeks  and  months,  from 
which  the  happy  light  had  fled — from  which 
something  sweet  and  delightful  was  gone  for 
ever. 

For,  though  it  may  be  sweeter  to  love,  than 
to  be  loved,  yet  it  is  hard  always  to  give  and 
never  to  receive  in  return  ;  and  when  Jane 
died,  Kachel  knew  well  enough  that  all  the 
love  she  had  to  receive  upon  earth  had  been 
given  unto  her.     Lilj:e  the  lost  Pleiad,  "  seen 


36  KACHEL   GRAY. 

no  more  below/'  the  bright  star  of  her  life  had 
left  the  sky.  It  burned  in  other  heavens  with 
more  celestial  light  ;  but  it  shone  no  longer 
over  her  path — to  cheer,  to  comfort,  to  illume. 

Mrs.  Gray  was  kind  ;  after  her  own  fashion, 
she  loved  Kachel.  They  had  grieved  and 
suffered  together  from  the  same  sorrows,  and 
kindred  griefs  can  bind  the  farthest  hearts  ; 
but  beyond  this  there  was  no  sympathy  be- 
tween them,  and  Mrs.  Gray's  affection,  such 
as  it  was,  was  free  from  a  particle  of  tender- 
ness. 

She  was  not  naturally  a  patient  or  an  ami- 
able woman  ;  and  she  had  endured  great  and 
unmerited  wrongs  from  Kachers  father.  Per- 
haps she  would  have  been  more  than  human, 
had  she  not  occasionally  reminded  her  step- 
daughter of  Mr.  Thomas  Gray's  misdeeds,  and 
now  and  then  taunted  her  with  a  "  He  never 
cared  about  you — you  know." 

Aye — Kachel  knew  it  well  enough.  She 
knew  that  her  own  father  loved  her  not — 
that  though  he  had  cared  little  for  Jane,  not 


RACHEL    gray/  37 

being  a  tender-hearted  man,  still  that  he  had 
cared  somewhat  for  that  younger,  and  more 
favoured  child.  That  before  he  left  England, 
he  would  occasionally  caress  her  ;  that  when 
she  died,  tears  had  flowed  down  his  stern  cheek 
on  hearing  the  tidings,  and  that  the  words  had 
escaped  him  :  "I  am  sorry  I  was  not  there/' 

All  this  Kachel  knew.  Her  mind  was  too 
noble,  and  too  firm  for  jealousy  ;  her  heart 
too  pious  and  too  humble  for  rebellious  sorrow  ; 
but  yet  she  found  it  hard  to  bear,  and  very 
hard  to  be  reminded  of  it  as  a  reproach  and  a 
shame. 

Was  it  not  enough  that  she  could  not  win 
the  affection  she  most  longed  for?  She  was 
devoted  to  her  step-mother  ;  she  had  fondly 
loved  her  younger  sister ;  but  earlier  born  in 
her  heart  than  these  two  loves,  deeper,  and 
more  solemn,  was  the  love  Eachel  felt  for  her 
father.  That  instinct  of  nature,  which  in  him 
was  silent,  in  her  spoke  strongly.  That  share 
of  love  which  he  denied  her,  she  silently  added 
to  her  own,  and  united  both  in  one  fervent 


38  KACHEL    GRAY. 

offering.  Harsliness  and  indifference  had  no 
power  to  quench  a  feeling,  to  which  love  and 
kindness  had  not  given  birth.  She  loved 
because  it  was  her  destiny  ;  because,  as  she 
once  said  herself,  when  speaking  of  another  : 
"  A  daughter's  heart  clings  to  her  father  with 
boundless  charity." 

Young  as  she  was  when  Thomas  Gray  left 
his  home,  Kachel  remembered  him  well.  His 
looks,  the  very  tones  of  his  voice,  were  present 
to  her.  Not  once,  during  the  years  of  his 
absence,  did  the  thought  of  her  father  cease 
to  haunt  her  heart.  When,  from  the  bitter 
remarks  of  her  step-mother,  she  learned  that 
he  had  returned,  and  where  he  had  taken  up 
his  home,  she  had  no  peace  until  she  succeeded 
in  obtaining  a  glimpse  of  him.  Free,  as  are 
all  the  children  of  the  poor,  she  made  her  way 
to  the  street  where  he  lived,  and  many  a  day 
walked  for  weary  miles  in  order  to  pass  by  her 
father's  door.  But  she  never  crossed  the 
threshold,  never  spoke  to  him,  never  let  him 


RACHEL   GRAY.'  39 

know  who  she  was,  until  the  sad  day  when  she 
bore  to  him  the  news  of  her  sister's  death. 

He  received  her  with  his  usual  coldness — 
in  such  emotion  as  he  showed,  she  had  no  share. 
Like  strangers  they  had  met — like  strangers 
they  parted.  But,  though  his  coldness  and 
her  own  timidity  prevented  nearer  advances, 
they  did  not  prevent  Rachel  from  often  seeking 
the  remote  neighbourhood  and  gloomy  street 
where  her  father  dwelt. 

It  was  a  pleasure,  though  a  sad  one,  to  look 
on  his  face,  even  if  she  went  not  near  him ; 
and  thus  it  happened,  that  on  this  dark  night 
she  stood  in  the  sheltering  obscurity  of  the 
well-known  doorway,  gazing  on  the  solitary  old 
man,  yet  venturing  not  to  cross  the  narrow 
street. 

The  \^ind  blew  from  the  east.  It  was  cold 
and  piercing ;  yet  it  could  not  draw  Rachel 
from  her  vigil  of  love.  Still  she  looked  and 
lingered,  wishing  she  knew  not  what  ;  and 
hoping  against  hope.  Thus  she  stayed,  until 
Thomas  Gray  left  his  work,  put  up  the  shut- 


40  KACHEL   GRAY. 

ters,  then  left  the  house  by  the  private  door, 
and  slowly  walked  away  to  the  nearest  public- 
house. 

The  shop  was  once  more  a  blank  in  the 
dark  street.  Kachel  looked  at  the  deserted 
dwelling  and  sighed ;  then  softly  and  silently 
she  stole  away* 


CHAPTER    III. 

It  was  late  when  Rachel  reached  home. 
She  found  her  step-mother  sitting  up  for  her, 
rigid,  amazed,  indignant — so  indignant,  indeed, 
that  though  she  rated  Rachel  soundly  for  her 
audacity  in  presuming  to  stay  out  so  long 
without  previous  leave  obtained,  she  quite 
forgot  to  inquire  particularly  why  she  had 
not  come  home  earlier.  A  series  of  disasters 
had  been  occasioned  by  Rachel's  absence ; 
Jane  and  Mary  had  quarrelled,  Mrs.  Gray  had 
been  kept  an  hour  waiting  for  her  supper,  the 
beer  had  naturally  become  flat  and  worthless, 
and  whilst  Mrs.  Gray  was  sleeping — and  how 
could  she  help  sleeping,  being  quite  faint  and 
exhausted  with  her  long  vigil — puss  had  got 


42  KACHEL    GRAY. 

up  on  the  table  and  walked  off  with  Kaohers 
polony. 

There  was  a  touch  of  quiet  humour  in 
Eachel,  and  with  a  demure  smile,  she  inter- 
nally wondered  why  it  was  precisely  her  polony 
that  had  been  selected  by  puss,  but  aloud  she 
merely  declared  that  she  could  make  an  ex- 
cellent supper  on  bread  and  beer.  Mrs.  Grray, 
who  held  the  reins  of  domestic  management 
in  their  little  household,  assured  her  that  she 
had  better,  for  that  nothing  else  was  she  going 
to  get ;  she  sat  down  heroically,  determined  to 
eat  the  whole  of  her  polony  in  order  to  punish 
and  provoke  her  step-daughter ;  but  somehow 
or  other  the  half  of  that  dainty  had,  before 
the  end  of  the  meal,  found  its  way  to  the  plate 
of  Kachel,  who,  when  she  protested  against 
this  act  of  generosity,  was  imperiously  ordered 
to  hold  her  tongue,  which  order  she  did  not 
dare  to  resist ;  for  if  Mrs.  Gray's  heart  was 
mellow,  her  temper  was  sufficiently  tart. 

The  apprentices  had  long  been  gone  to  bed  ; 
as  soon  as  supper  was  over,  Mrs.  Gray  inti- 


EACHEL   GRAY.  43 

mated  to  Eacliel  the  propriety  of  following 
their  example.  Kachel  ventured  to  demur 
meekly. 

"  I  cannot,  mother — I  have  work  to  finish." 

"  Then  better  have  sat  at  home  and  fin- 
ished it,  than  have  gone  gadding  about,  and 
nearly  got  a  pitch  plaster  on  your  mouth," 
grumbled  Mrs.  Gray,  who  was  a  firm  believer 
in  pitch  plasters-,  and  abductions,  and  high- 
way robberies,  and  all  sorts  of  horrors.  "Mind 
you  don't  set  the  house  a  fire,"  she  added, 
retiring. 

"  Why,  mother,"  said  Kachel,  smiling, 
"  you  treat  me  like  a  child,  and  I  am  twenty- 
six." 

^'  What  about  that  ?  when  you  aint  got  no 
more  sense  than  a  baby." 

Kachel  did  not  venture  to  dispute  a  pro- 
position so  distinctly  stated.  She  remained 
up,  and  sat  sewing  until  her  work  was  finished  ; 
she  then  took  out  from  some  secret  repository 
a  small  end  of  candle,  lit  it,  and  extinguished 
the  long  candle,  by  the  light  of  which  she  had 


44  RACHEL   GRAY. 

been  working.  From  her  pocket  she  took  a 
small  key  ;  it  opened  a  work-box,  whence  she 
drew  a  shirt  collar  finely  stitched  ;  she  worked 
until  her  eyes  ached,  but  she  heeded  it  not, 
until  they  closed  with  involuntary  fatigue  and 
sleep,  and  still  she  would  not  obey  the  voice  of 
wearied  nature  ;  still  she  stitched  for  love,  like 
the  poor  shirt-maker  for  bread,  until,  without 
previous  warning,  her  candle  end  suddenly 
flickered,  then  exj)ired  in  its  socket,  and  left 
her  in  darkness.  Eachel  gently  opened  the 
window,  and  partly  unclosed  the  shutter  ;  the 
moon  was  riding  in  the  sky  above  the  old  house 
opposite,  her  pale  clear  light  glided  over  its 
brown  walls  and  the  quiet  street,  down  into  the 
silent  parlour  of  Kachel.  She  looked  around 
her,  moved  at  seeing  familiar  objects  under  an 
unusual  aspect.  In  that  old  chair  she  had 
often  seen  her  father  sitting  ;  on  such  a  moon- 
light night  as  this  she  and  Jane,  then  already 
declining,  had  sat  by  the  window,  and  looking 
at  that  same  sky,  had  talked  with  youthful 
fervour  of  high  and  eternal  things.     And  now 


RACHEL    GRAY.  45 

Jane  knew  the  divine  secrets  she  had  guessed 
from  afar,  and  Thomas  Gray,  alas !  was  a  stran- 
ger and  an  alien  in  his  own  home. 

"  Who  knows,"  thought  Kachel,  "  but  he 
may  return  some  day  ?  Who  knows — who 
can  tell  J  Life  is  long,  and  hope  is  eternal. 
Ah  !  if  he  should  come  back,  even  though  he 
never  looked  at  me,  never  spoke,  blessed,  thrice 

blessed,    should   ever   be   held    the   day '' 

And  a  prayer,  not  framed  in  words,  but  in  deep 
feehngs,  gushed  like  a  pure  spring  from  her 
inmost  heart.  But,  indeed,  when  did  she  not 
pray  ?  When  was  God  divided  from  her 
thoughts  ?  When  did  prayer  fail  to  prompt 
the  kind,  gentle  words  that  fell  from  her  lips, 
or  to  lend  its  daily  grace  to  a  pure  and  blame- 
less life  ? 

For  to  her,  God  was  not  what  He,  alas  !  is 
to  so  many — an  unapproachable  Deity,  to  be 
worshipped  from  afar,  in  fear  and  trembHng, 
or  a  cold  though  subhme  abstraction.  No, 
Jesus  was  her  friend,  her  counsellor,  her  refuge. 
There  was  familiarity  and  tenderness  in  her 


46  RACHEL   GRAY. 

very  love  for  Him  ;  and,  tliougli  slie  scarcely 
knew  it  herself,  a  deep  and  fervent  sense  of 
His  divine  humanity,  of  those  thirty-three 
years  of  earthly  life,  of  toil,  of  poverty,  of 
trouble,  and  of  sorrow  which  move  our  very 
hearts  within  us,  when  we  look  from  Bethlehem 
to  Calvary,  from  the  lowly  birth  in  the  Manger 
to  the  bitter  death  on  the  Cross. 

We  might  ask,  were  these  the  pages  to  raise 
such  questions,  why  Jesus  is  not  more  loved 
thus — as  a  friend,  and  a  dear  one,  rather  than 
as  a  cold  master  to  be  served,  not  for  love,  but 
for  wages.  But  let  it  rest.  Sufficient  is  it  for 
us  to  know  that  not  thus  did  Kachel  Gray  love 
him,  but  with  a  love  in  which  humihty  and 
tenderness  equally  blended. 

After  a  meditative  pause,  she  quietly  put 
away  her  things  by  moonlight,  then  again 
closed  shutter  and  window,  and  softly  stole  up 
to  the  room  which  she  shared  with  her  step- 
mother. She  soon  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed 
that  she  had  gone  to  live  with  her  father,  who 
said  to  her,  "  Kachel !  Rachel !  "     So  great 


RACHEL   GRAY.  47 

was  her  joy,  that  she  awoke.  She  found  her 
mother  ah-eacly  up,  and  scolding  her  because 
she  still  slept. 

"  Mother/'  asked  Kachel,  leaning  up  on  one 
elbow,  "  was  it  you  who  called  me,  Kachel  7  " 

"  Why  aint  I  been  a  calling  of  you  this  last 
hour  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gray,  with  much  asperity. 

Rachel  checked  a  sigh,  and  rose. 

"  Get  up  Jane — get  up  Mary,''  said  Mrs. 
Gray,  rapping  soundly  at  the  room  door  of  the 
two  apprentices. 

"  Let  them  sleep  a  little  longer,  poor  young 
things  !  "  implored  Rachel. 

"  Ko,  that  I  won't/'  replied  her  mother,  with 
great  determination,  "  lazy  little  creatures." 

And  to  the  imminent  danger  of  her  own 
knuckles,  she  rapped  so  pertinaciously,  that 
Jane  and  Mary  were  unable  to  feign  deafness, 
and  replied,  the  former  acting  as  spokeswoman, 
that  Mrs.  Gray  needn't  be  making  all  that 
noise  ;  for  that  they  heard  her,  and  were 
getting  up.  "I  thought  I'd  make  them  hear 
me,"  muttered  Mrs.  Gray,  hobbling  down  stairs. 


48  RACHEL   GRAY. 

There  are  some  beings  who  lead  lives  so 
calm,  that  when  they  look  back  on  years,  they 
seem  to  read  the  story  of  a  few  days  ;  and  of 
these  was  Kachel  Gray.  Life  for  her  flowed 
dull,  monotonous  and  quiet,  as  that  of  a  nun  in 
her  cloister.  The  story  of  one  day  was  the 
story  of  the  next.  A  few  hopes,  a  few  precious 
thoughts  she  treasured  in  her  heart ;  but  out- 
wardly, to  work,  to  hear  idle  gossip,  to  eat, 
drink,  and  sleep,  seemed  her  whole  portion, 
her  destiny  from  morn  till  night,  from  birth  to 
the  grave. 

Like  every  day  passed  this  day.  When  it 
grew  so  dark  that  she  could  see  no  more  to 
work,  she  put  her  task  by,  and  softly  stole  away 
to  a  little  back  room  up-stairs. 

It  was  a  very  small  room  indeed,  with  a 
bed,  where  the  apprentices  slept  ;  a  chest  of 
drawers,  a  table,  and  two  chairs  : — ^many  a 
closet  is  larger.  Its  solitary  window  looked 
out  on  the  little  yard  below  ;  low  walls,  against 
which  grew  KacheFs  stocks  and  wall-flowers, 
enclosed  it.     From  the  next  house,  there  came 


RACHEL   GRAY.  49 

the  laughter  and  the  screams  too  of  children, 
and  of  habies  ;  and  from  a  neighbouring  forge, 
a  loud,  yet  not  unmusical  clanking,  with  which 
now  and  then,  blended  the  rude  voices  of  the 
men,  singing  snatches  of  popular  songs.  Dim- 
med by  the  smoke  of  the  forge,  and  by  the 
natural  heaviness  of  a  London  atmosphere, 
the  sky  enclosed  all  ;  yet,  even  through  the 
smoke  and  haze,  fair  rosy  gleams  of  the  setting 
sun  shone  in  that  London  sky,  and  at  the 
zenith  there  was  a  space  of  pure,  ethereal 
blue — soft,  and  very  far  from  sinful  and  suffer- 
ing earth,  where  glittered  in  calm  beauty  a 
large  and  tranquil  star. 

Eachel  sat  by  the  window.  She  listened  to 
earth :  she  looked  at  Heaven.  Her  heart 
swelled  with  love,  and  prayer,  and  tenderness, 
and  hope.  Tears  of  delight  filled  her  eyes  ; 
she  murmured  to  herself  verses  from  psalms 
and  hymns — all  praising  God,  all  telling  the 
beauty  of  God's  creation.  Oh  !  pure  and 
beautiful,  indeed,  would  be  the  story  of  these 


60  EACHEL   GRAY. 

your  evening  musings,  if  we  could  rightly  tell 
it  here,  Kachel  G-ray. 

Keader,  if  to  learn  how  a  fine  nature  found 
its  way  through  darkness  and  mist,  and  some 
suffering  to  the  highest,  and  to  the  noblest  of 
the  delights  God  has  granted  to  man — the 
religious  and  the  intellectual ;  if,  we  say,  to 
learn  this  give  you  pleasure,  you  may  read  on 
to  the  end  of  the  chapter  ;  if  not,  pass  on  at 
once  to  the  next.  These  pages  were  not  writ- 
ten for  you  ;  and  even  though  you  should  read 
them,  feel  and  understand  them,  you  never 
will. 

Our  life  is  twofold  ;  and  of  that  double  life, 
which,  like  all  of  us,  Kachel  bore  within  her, 
we  have  as  yet  said  but  little.  She  was  now 
twenty-six  ;  a  tall,  thin,  sallow  woman,  un- 
graceful, of  shy  manners,  and  but  Httle  speech ; 
but  with  a  gentle  face,  a  broad  forehead,  and 
large  brown  eyes.  By  trade,  she  was  a  dress- 
maker, of  small  pretensions  ;  her  father  had 
forsaken  her  early,  and  her  step-mother  had 
reared  her.     This  much,  knew  the  little  world 


KACHEL   GRAY.  51 

in  which,  moved  Kachel  Gray  ;  this  much,  and 
no  more.  We  may  add,  that  this  same  little 
world  had,  in  its  wisdom,  pronounced  Kachel 
Gray  a  fool. 

Her  education  had  been  very  limited.  She 
knew  how  to  read,  and  she  could  write,  but 
neither  easily  nor  well.  For  though  God  had 
bestowed  on  her  the  rare  dower  of  a  fine  mind, 
He  had  not  added  to  it  the  much  more  common, 
though  infinitely  less  precious  gift,  of  a  quick 
intellect.  She  learned  slowly,  with  great  diffi- 
culty, with  sore  pain  and  trouble.  Her  teachers, 
one  and  all,  pronounced  her  dull ;  her  step- 
mother was  ashamed  of  her,  and  to  her  dying 
day  thought  Kachel  no  better  than  a  simpleton. 

Kachel  felt  this  keenly  ;  but  she  had  no 
means  of  self-defence.  She  had  not  the  least 
idea  of  how  she  could  prove  that  she  was  not  an 
idiot.  One  of  the  characteristics  of  childhood 
and  of  youth  is  a  painful  inabihty,  an  entire 
powerlessness  of  giving  the  form  of  speech  to 
its  deepest  and  most  fervent  feelings.  The 
infirmity  generally  dies  off  with  years,  perhaps 


52  RACHEL   GRAY. 

because  also  dies  off  the  very  strength  of  those 
feelings  ;  but  even  as  they  were  to  last  for  ever 
with  Kachel  Gray,  so  was  that  infirmity  des- 
tined to  endure.  Shy,  sensitive,  and  nervous, 
she  was  a  noble  book,  sealed  to  all  save  Grod. 

At  eleven,  her  education,  such  as  it  was, 
was  over.  Kachel  had  to  work,  and  earn  her 
bread.  She  was  reared  religiously,  and  hers 
was  a  deeply  religious  nature.  The  misapplica- 
tion of  religion  narrows  still  more  a  narrow 
mind,  but  religion,  taken  in  its  true  sense,  en- 
larges a  noble  one.  Yet,  not  without  strife,  not 
without  suffering,  did  Kachel  make  her  way. 
She  was  ignorant,  and  she  was  alone  ;  how  to 
ask  advice  she  knew  not,  for  she  could  not  ex- 
plain herself.  Sometimes  she  seemed  to  see  the 
most  sublime  truths,  plain  as  in  a  book ;  at 
other  times,  they  floated  dark  and  clouded  before 
her  gaze,  or  vanished  in  deep  obscurity,  and  left 
her  alone  and  cast  down.  She  suffered  years, 
until,  from  her  very  sufferings,  perfect  faith  was 
born,  and  from  faith  unbounded  trust  in  God, 


RACHEL   GRAY.  53 

after  wiiicli  her  soul  sank  in  deep  and  blessed 
peace. 

And  now,  when  rest  was  won,  there  came 
the  want  for  more.  Keligion  is  love.  Kachel 
wanted  thought,  that  child  of  the  intellect,  as 
love  is  the  child  of  the  heart.  She  did  not  know 
herself  what  it  was  that  she  needed,  until  she 
discovered  and  possessed  it — until  she  could  read 
a  book,  a  pamphlet,  a  scrap  of  verse,  and  brood 
over  it,  like  a  bird  over  her  young,  not  for  hours, 
not  for  days,  but  for  weeks — ^blest  in  that  silent 
meditation.  Her  mind  was  tenacious,  but  slow  ; 
she  read  few  books — many  would  have  disturbed 
her.  Sweeter  and  pleasanter  was  it  to  Kachel 
to  think  over  what  she  did  read,  and  to  treasure 
it  up  in  the  chambers  of  her  mind,  than  to  fill 
those  chambers  with  heaps  of  knowledge.  In- 
deed, for  knowledge  Kachel  cared  comparatively 
little.  In  such  as  displayed  more  clearly  the 
glories  of  God's  creation  she  delighted ;  but 
man's  learning,  man's  science,  touched  her  not. 
To  think  was  her  delight ;  a  silent,  solitary, 


54  RACHEL   GRAY. 

forbidden  pleasure,  in  wluch  Eacliel  had  to  in- 
dulge by  stealth. 

For  all  this  time,  and  especially  since  the 
death  of  her  sister,  she  suffered  keenly  from 
home  troubles,  from  a  little  domestic  persecution, 
painful,  pertinacious,  and  irritating.  Mrs.  Gray 
vaguely  felt  that  her  daughter  was  not  like  other 
girls,  and  not  knowing  that  she  was  in  reality 
very  far  beyond  most ;  feeling,  too,  that  Kachel 
was  wholly  unhke  herself,  and  jealously  resent- 
ing the  fact,  she  teased  her  unceasingly,  and  did 
her  best  to  interrupt  the  fits  of  meditation, 
which  she  did  not  scruple  to  term  "moping." 
When  her  mind  was  most  haunted  with  some 
fine  thought,  Eachel  had  to  talk  to  her  step- 
mother, to  listen  to  her,  and  to  take  care  not  to 
reply  at  random  ;  if  she  failed  in  any  of  these 
obligations,  half-an-hour's  lecture  was  the  least 
penalty  she  could  expect.  Dear  to  her,  for  this 
reason,  were  the  few  moments  of  solitude  she 
could  call  her  own  ;  dear  to  her  was  that  little 
room,  where  she  could  steal  away  at  twilight 
time  and  think  in  peace. 


RACHEL   GRAY.  55 

Very  Tinlike  her  age  was  this  ignorant  dress- 
maker of  the  nineteenth  century.  Ask  the  men 
and  women  of  the  day  to  read  volumes  ;  why, 
there  is  not  a  season  but  they  go  through  the 
Herculean  labour  of  swallowing  down  histories 
written  faster  than  time  flies,  novels  by  the 
dozen,  essays,  philosophic  and  political,  books 
of  travels,  of  science,  of  statistics,  besides  the 
nameless  host  of  reviews,  magazines,  and  papers, 
daily  and  weekly.  Ask  them  to  study  :  why, 
what  is  there  they  do  not  know,  from  the  most 
futile  accomplishment  to  the  most  abstruse 
science  ?  Ask  them  too,  if  you  like,  to  enter 
life,  to  view  it  under  all  its  aspects ;  why,  they 
have  travelled  over  the  whole  earth ;  and  Kfe, 
they  know  from  the  palace  down  to  the  hovel ; 
but  bid  them  think  !  They  stare  aghast :  it  ig 
the  task  of  Sisyphus — the  labour  of  the  Da-* 
naide  ;  as  fast  as  thought  enters  their  mind,  it 
goes  out  again.  Bid  them  commune,  one  day 
with  God  and  their  own  hearts — they  reply  de- 
jectedly that  they  cannot  ;  for  their  intellect  ig 
quick   and  brilliant,  but  their  heart   is   cold. 


56  RACHEL   GRAY. 

And  thought  springs  from  the  heart,  and  in  her 
heart  had  Eachel  Gray  found  it. 

The  task  impossible  to  them  was  to  her  easy 
and  delightful.  Time  wore  on ;  deeper  and 
more  exquisite  grew  what  Rachel  quaintly 
termed  to  herself  "  the  pleasures  of  thinking.'' 
And  oh  !  she  thought  sometimes,  and  it  was  a 
thought  that  made  her  heart  burn,  "  Oh  !  that 
people  only  knew  the  pleasures  of  thinking ! 
Oh  !  if  people  would  only  think  ! "  And  morn, 
and  noon,  and  night,  and  bending  over  her  work, 
or  sitting  at  peaceful  twilight  time  in  the  little 
back  room,  Rachel  thought ;  and  thus  she  went 
on  through  life,  between  those  two  fair  sisters, 
Thought  and  Prayer. 

Reader,  have  you  known  many  thinkers  ? 
We  confess  that  we  have  known  many  men 
and  women  of  keen  and  great  intellect,  some 
geniuses  ;  but  only  one  real  thinker  have  we 
known,  only  one  who  really  thought  for  thought's 
own  sake,  and  that  one  was  Rachel  Gray. 

And  now,  if  she  moves  through  this  story, 
thinking  much  and  doing  little,  you  know  why. 


CHAPTER    lY. 

It  was  not  merely  in  meditation  that  Rachel 
indulged,  when  she  sought  the  little  room.  The 
divine  did  not  banish  the  human  from  her  heart  ; 
and  she  had  friends  known  to  her,  but  from  that 
back  room  window  ;  but  friends  they  were,  and, 
in  their  way  and  degree,  valued  ones. 

First  came  the  neighbour's  children.  By 
standing  up  on  an  old  wooden  stool  in  the  yard, 
they  could  see  Rachel  at  her  window,  and  Rachel 
could  see  them.  They  were  rude  and  ignorant 
httle  things  enough,  and  no  better  than  young 
heathens,  in  rearing  and  knowledge  ;  yet  they 
liked  to  hear  Rachel  singing  hymns  in  a  low 
voice  ;  they  even  caught  from  her,  scraps  of 
verses,  and  sang  them  in  their  own  fashion  ; 
and  when  Rachel,  hearing  this,  took  courage  to 

3* 


58  BACHEL    GRAY. 

open  a  conversation  with  them,  and  to  teach 
them  as  well  as  she  could,  she  found  in  them 
voluntary  and  sufficiently  docile  pupils.  Their 
intercourse,  indeed,  was  brief,  and  limited  to  a 
few  minutes  every  evening  that  Eachel  could 
steal  up  to  her  little  room,  but  it  was  cordial 
and  free. 

Another  friend  had  Kachel,  yet  one  with 
whom  she  never  had  exchanged  speech.  There 
existed,  at  the  back  of  Mrs.  Gray's  house,  a 
narrow  court,  inhabited  by  the  poorest  of  the 
poor.  Over  part  of  this  court,  Mrs.  Gray's  back 
windows  commanded  a  prospect  which  few  would 
have  envied — yet  it  had  proved  to  Kachel  the 
source  of  the  truest  and  the  keenest  pleasure. 

From  her  window,  Eachel  could  look  clearly 
into  a  low  damp  cellar  opposite,  the  abode  of  a 
little  old  Frenchwoman,  known  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, as  "  mad  Madame  Kose." 

Madame  Kose,  as  she  called  herself,  was  a 
very  diminutive  old  woman — unusually  so,  but 
small  and  neat  in  all  her  limbs,  and  brisk  in  all 
her  movements.     She  was  dry,  too,  and  brown 


RACHEL   GRAY.  59 

as  a  nut,  with,  a  restless  black  eye,  and  a  voluble 
tongue,  which  she  exercised  mostly  in  her  native 
language — not  that  Madame  Kose  could  not 
speak  English ;  she  had  resided  some  fifteen 
years  in  London,  and  could  say  '  yes '  and  '  no,' 
&c.,  quite  fluently.  Her  attire  looked  peculiar, 
in  this  country,  but  it  suited  her  person  excel- 
lently well ;  it  was  simply  that  of  a  French 
peasant  woman,  with  high  peaked  cap,  and 
kerchief,  both  snow-white,  short  petticoats,  and 
full,  wide  apron,  clattering  wooden  shoes,  and 
blue  stockings. 

What  wind  of  fortune  had  wafted  this  little 
French  fairy  to  a  London  cellar,  no  one  ever 
knew.  How  she  Hved,  was  almost  as  great  a 
mystery.  Every  Sunday  morning,  she  went 
forth,  with  a  little  wooden  stool,  and  planted 
herself  at  the  door  of  the  French  chapel ;  she 
asked  for  nothing,  but  took  what  she  got.  In- 
deed, her  business  there  did  not  seem  to  be  to 
get  anything,  but  to  make  herself  busy.  She 
nodded  to  every  one  who  went  in  or  out,  gave 
unasked-for  information,  and  assisted  the  police- 


60  RACHEL   GRAY. 

men  in  keeping  the  carriages  in  order.  She 
darted  in  and  out,  among  wheels  and  horses, 
with  reckless  audacity  ;  and  once,  to  the  infinite 
wrath  of  a  fat  Hveried  coachman,  she  suspended 
herself — she  was  rather  short — from  the  aristo- 
cratic reins  he  held,  and  boldly  attempted  to 
turn  the  heads  of  his  horses.  On  week  days, 
Madame  Kose  stayed  in  her  cellar,  and  knitted. 
It  was  this  part  of  her  life  which  Eachel  knew, 
and  it  was  the  most  beautiful ;  for  this  little, 
laughed-at  being,  who  lived  upon  charity,  was, 
herself,  all  charity.  Never  yet,  for  five  years 
that  Kachel  had  watched  her,  had  she  seen 
Madame  Kose  alone  in  her  cellar.  Poor  girls, 
who  looked  very  much  like  outcasts,  old  and 
infirm  women,  helpless  children,  had  successively 
shared  the  home,  the  bed,  and  the  board  of 
Madame  Kose.  For  her  seemed  written  the 
beautiful  record,  "  I  was  naked,  and  ye  clothed 
me ;  I  was  hungry,  and  ye  fed  me  :  athirst,  and 
ye  gave  me  drink  ;  and  I  was  houseless,  and  you 
sheltered  me." 

With  humble   admiration,   Kachel   saw  a 


EACHEL    GRAY.  61 

charity  and  a  zeal  which  she  could  not  imitate. 
Like  Mary,  she  could  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  Lord, 
andj  looking  up,  listen,  rapt  and  absorbed,  to 
the  divine  teaching.  But  the  spirit  of  Martha, 
the  holy  zeal  and  fervour  with  which  she  bade 
welcome  to  her  heavenly  guest,  were  not  among 
the  gifts  of  Kachel  Gray. 

Yet,  the  pleasure  with  which  she  stood  in 
the  corner  of  her  own  window,  and  looked  down 
into  the  cellar  of  Madame  Kose,  was  not  merely 
that  of  religious  sympathy  or  admiration.  As 
she  saw  it  this  evening,  with  the  tallow  light 
that  burned  on  the  table,  rendering  every  object 
minutely  distinct,  Kachel  looked  with  another 
feeling  than  that  of  mere  curiosity.  She  looked 
with  the  artistic  pleasure  we  feel,  when  we  gaze 
at  some  clearly-painted  Dutch  picture,  with  its 
back-ground  of  soft  gloom,  and  its  homely  de- 
tails of  domestic  life,  relieved  by  touches  of 
brilliant  light.  Poor  as  this  cellar  was,  a  painter 
would  have  liked  it  well ;  he  would  surely  have 
delighted  in  the  brown  and  crazy  clothes-press, 
that  stood  at  the  further  end,  massive  and  dark  ; 


62  RACHEL    GRAY. 

in  the  shining  Idtchen  utensils  that  decorated 
the  walls  ;  in  the  low  and  many-coloured  bed  ; 
in  the  clean,  white  deal  table  ;  in  the  smoulder- 
ing fire,  that  burned  in  that  dark  grate,  like  a 
red  eye  ;  especially  would  he  have  gloried  in  the 
quaint  little  figure  of  Madame  Kose. 

She  had  been  cooking  her  supper,  and  she 
now  sat  down  to  it.  In  doing  so,  she  caught 
sight  of  Kachers  figure  ;  they  were  acquainted 
— that  is  to  say,  that  Madame  Kose,  partly 
aware  of  the  interest  Eachel  took  in  such 
glimpses  as  she  obtained  of  her  own  daily  life, 
favoured  her  with  tokens  of  recognition,  when- 
ever she  caught  sight  of  her,  far  or  near.  She 
now  nodded  in  friendly  style,  laughed,  nodded 
again,  and  with  that  communicativeness  which 
formed  part  of  her  character,  successively  dis- 
played every  article  of  her  supper  for  EacheFs 
inspection.  First,  came  a  dishful  of  dark  liquid 
— onion  soup  it  was — then,  a  piece  of  bread, 
not  a  large  one  ;  then,  two  apples ;  then  a 
small  bit  of  cheese — for  Madame  Kose  was  a 
Frenchwoman,  and  she  would  have  her  soup, 


KACHEL    GRAY.  63 

and  lier  dish,  and  her  dessert,  no  matter  on 
what  scale,  or  in  what  quantity. 

But  the  supper  of  Madame  Kose  did  not 
alone  attract  the  attention  and  interest  of 
Eachel.  For  a  week  Madame  Rose  had  enjoyed 
her  cellar  to  herself ;  her  last  guest,  an  old  and 
infirm  woman,  ha\T[Qg  died  of  old  age  ;  but, 
since  the  preceding  day,  she  had  taken  in  a  new 
tenant — an  idiot  girl,  of  some  fourteen  years  of 
age,  whom  her  father,  an  inhabitant  of  the  court, 
had  lately  forsaken,  and  whom  society,  that 
negligent  step-mother  of  man,  had  left;  to  her 
fate. 

And  now,  with  tears  of  emotion  and  admi- 
ration, Rachel  watched  the  little  Frenchwoman 
feeding  her  adopted  child ;  having  first  girt  its 
neck  with  a  sort  of  bib,  Madame  Rose  armed 
herself  with  a  long  handled  spoon,  and  standing 
before  it — she  was  too  short  to  sit — she  dehber- 
ately  poured  a  sufifi-cient  quantity  of  onion  soup 
down  its  throat,  a  proceeding  which  the  idiot 
girl  received  with  great  equanimity,  opening  and 


64  RACHEL   GRAY. 

shutting  her  mouth  with  exemplary  regularity 
and  seriousness. 

So  absorbed  was  Kachel  in  looking,  that  she 
never  heard  her  mother  calling  her  from  below, 
until  the  summons  was,  for  a  third  time,  angrily 
repeated. 

"Now,  Kachel,  what  are  you  doing  up 
there  ?  "  asked  the  sharp  voice  of  Mrs.  Gray, 
at  the  foot  of  the  staircase ;  "  moping,  as 
usual!  Eh.?" 

Kachel  started,  and  hastened  down  stairs,  a 
little  frightened.  She  had  remained  unusually 
long.  What  if  her  mother  should  suspect  that 
she  had  gone  up  for  the  purpose  of  thinking  ? 
Mrs.  Gray  had  no  such  suspicion,  fortunately  ; 
else  she  would  surely  have  been  horror-struck  at 
the  monstrous  idea,  that  Kachel  should  actually 
dare  to  think  !  The  very  extravagance  of  the 
supposition  saved  Kachel.  It  was  not  to  be 
thought  of. 

The  candle  was  lit.  Mrs.  Brown  and  an- 
other neighbour  had  looked  in.      Gossip,  fla- 


RACHEL   GRAY.  65 

voiired  with  scandal — else  it  would  have  been 
tasteless — was  at  full  gallop. 

"  La  !  but  didn't  I  always  say  so  ? "  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Brown,  who  had  always  said 
everything. 

"  I  couldn't  have  believed  it,  that  I 
couldn't  ! "  emphatically  observed  Mrs.  Gray. 

"  La,  bless  you,  Mrs.  Gray !  I  could," 
sneered  the  neighbour,  who  was  sharp,  thin, 
and  irritable. 

Even  Jane  had  her  word  : 

''  I  never  liked  her,"  she  said,  giving  her 
thread  a  pull. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  languidly  asked  Mary, 
letting  her  work  fall  on  her  knees. 

"  Never  you  mind,  Miss,"  tartly  replied 
Jane.     "  Just  stitch  on,  will  you." 

Mrs.  Brown  was  again  down  on  the  un- 
lucky absent  one. 

"  Serve  her  right,"  she  said,  benevolently. 
"  Serve  her  right — the  set  up  thing  !  Oh  ! 
there's  Rachel.  Lawk,  Rachel !  what  a  pity 
you  aint  been  here  !     You  never  heard  such 


66  EACHEL   GRAY. 

a  story  as  has  come  out  about  that  little  stay- 
maker,  Humpy,  as  I  call  her.  Why,  she's 
been  a  making  love  to — ^la  I  but  I  can't  help 
laughing,  when  I  think  of  it  ;  and  it's  all  true, 
every  word  of  it ;  aint  it,  Mrs.  Smith  ?  " 

Mrs.  Smith  loftily  acquiesced. 

"  Oh  !  my  little  room — my  little  room  !  " 
inwardly  sighed  Kachel,  as  she  sat  down  to 
her  work.  She  hoped  that  the  story  was,  at 
least,  finished  and  over ;  but  if  it  was,  the 
commentaries  upon  it  were  only  beginning,  and 
Heaven  knows  if  they  were  not  various  and 
a,bundant. 

Kachel  did  her  best  to  abstract  herself ;  to 
hear,  and  not  listen.  She  succeeded  so  well 
that  she  only  awoke  from  her  dream  when  Mrs. 
Brown  said  to  her, 

"  Well,  Kachel,  why  don't  you  answer, 
then?" 

Kachel  looked  up,  with  a  start,  and  said,  in 
some  trepidation, 

"  Answer !     I     didn't     hear    you     speak, 


BACHEL   GKAY.  67 

"  Didn't  you  now  !  "  knowingly  observed 
Mrs.  Brown,  winking  on  the  rest  of  the 
company. 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  did  not,  indeed,"  replied 
Rachel,  earnestly. 

"  Bless  the  girl !  "  said  Mrs.  Brown,  laugh- 
ing outright;  "why,  you  must  be  growing 
deaf." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Rachel,  rather  per- 
plexed ;  "  yet,  perhaps,  I  am  ;  for,  indeed,  I 
did  not  hear  you." 

"  La,  Miss  Gray  !  don't  you  see  they  are 
making  fun  of  you?"  impatiently  observed 
Jane.  "  Why,  Mrs.  Brown  hadn't  been  a  say- 
ing anything  at  all." 

Rachel  reddened  a  little,  and  there  was  a 
general  laugh  at  her  expense.  The  joke  was 
certainly  a  witty  one.  But  Mrs.  Gray,  who 
was  a  touchy  woman,  was  not  pleased  ;  and  no 
sooner  were  her  amiable  visitors  gone,  than  she 
gave  it  to  Rachel  for  having  been  laughed  at 
with  insolent  rudeness. 

"  If  you  were  not   sich  a  simpleton,"   she 


68  EACHEL   GRAY. 

said,  in  great  anger,  "  people  wouldn't  dare  to 
laugh,  at  you.  They  wouldn't  take  the  liberty. 
No  one  ever  laughed  at  me,  I  can  tell  you. 
No  Mrs.  Brown ;  no,  nor  no  Mrs.  Smith 
either.  But  you !  why,  they'll  do  anythink 
to  you." 

Kachel  looked  up  from  her  work  into  her 
mother's  face.  It  rose  to  her  lips  to  say — 
"  If  you  were  not  the  first  to  make  little  of  me, 
would  others  dare  to  do  so  ? "  but  she  re- 
membered her  lonely  forsaken  childhood,  and 
bending  once  more  over  her  task,  Kachel  held 
her  peace. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  bed,"  peevishly  said 
Mary. 

"  Then  go,  my  dear,"  gently  replied 
Kachel. 

"  You'll  spoil  that  girl,"  observed  Mrs. 
Grray,  with  great  asperity. 

"  She  is  not  strong,"  answered  Kachel ; 
"  and  I  promised  Mr.  Jones  she  should  not 
work  too  much." 


RACHEL    GRAY.  69 

"  Not  mucli  fear  of  that,"  drily  said  Jane, 
as  tlie  door  closed  on  Mary. 

ISTo  one  answered.  Eachel  worked ;  her 
mother  read  the  paper,  and  for  an  hour  there 
was  deep  silence  in  the  parlour.  As  the 
church  clock  struck  nine,  a  knock  came  at 
the  door.  Jane  opened,  and  a  rosy,  good- 
humoured  looking  man  entered  the  parlour. 
He  was  ahout  forty,  short,  stout,  with  rather 
a  low  forehead,  and  stuhby  hair ;  altogether, 
he  seemed  more  remarkable  for  good-nature 
than  for  intelligence.  At  once  his  look  went 
round  the  room. 

"  Mary  is  gone  to  bed,  Mr.  Jones,"  said 
Kachel,  smihng. 

"To  bed!  She  ain^t  ill,  I  hope.  Miss 
Gray,"  he  exclaimed,  with  an  alarmed  start. 

"  lU  !  Oh,  no  !  but  she  felt  tired.  I  am 
sorry  you  have  had  this  long  walk  for 
nothing." 

"  Never  mind,  Miss  Gray,"  he  replied 
cheerfully ;  then  sitting  down,  and  wiping  his 
moist   brow,  he   added — "  the  walk  does  me 


70  RACHEL   GRAY. 

good,  and  then  I  hear  how  she  is,  and  IVe  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  all.  And  so  she's  quite 
well,  is  she  ?  " 

He  leaned  his  two  hands  on  the  head  of 
his  walking-stick,  and  looking  over  it,  smiled 
abstractedly  at  his  own  thoughts.  Mrs.  Gray 
roused  him  with  the  query — 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  the  state  of 
the  nation,  Mr.  Jones  ?  " 

Mr.  Jones  scratched  his  head,  looked 
puzzled,  hemmed,  and  at  length  came  out 
with  the  candid  confession  : 

"  Mrs.  G-ray,  I  ain't  no  politician.  For  all 
I  see,  politics  only  brings  a  poor  man  into 
trouble.  Look  at  the  Chartists,  and  the  tenth 
of  April." 

"  Ah  !  poor  things  ! ''  sighed  Kachel,  "  I 
saw  them — they  passed  by  here.  How  thin 
they  were — how  careworn  they  looked  ! '' 

Mrs.  Gray  remained  aghast.  Kachel  had 
actually  had  the  audacity  to  give  an  opinion 
on  any  subject  unconnected  with  dress-making 


KACHEL   GRAY.  71 

— and  even  on  that,  poor  girl  1  she  was  not 
always  allowed  to  speak. 

"Now,  Kachel/'  she  said,  rallying,  '^  will 
you  hold  your  tongue,  and  speak  of  what  you 
know,  and  not  meddle  with  politics." 

We  must  apologize  for  i.;«ing  italics,  but 
without  their  aid  we^iiever  could  convey  to 
our  readers  a  proper  idea  of  the  awful  so- 
lemnity wi+\i  which  Mrs.  Gray  emphasized 
her  add:fgsg^  Kachel  was  rather  bewildered, 
^^^  /5ne  was  not  conscious  of  ha\dng  said  a 
^/ord  on  politics,  a  subject  she  did  not  under- 
^  stand,  and  never  spoke  on  ;  but  she  had  long 
learned  the  virtue  of  silence.  She  did  not 
reply. 

"  As  to  the  Chartists  ? "  resumed  Mrs. 
Gray,  turning  to  Mr.  Jones. 

"  Law  bless  you,  Mrs.  Gray,  I  ain't  one  of 
them  !  "  he  hastily  replied.  ''  I  mind  my 
own  business — that's  what  I  do,  Mrs.  Gray. 
The  world  must  go  round,  you  know." 

"So  it  must,''  gravely  replied  that  lady. 
"  You  never  said  a  truer  thing,  Mr.  Jones." 


72  BACHEL   GKAY. 

And  very  likely  Mr.  Jones  liad  not. 

"  And  I   must   go  off/'   said  Mr.   Jones, 
rising  with  a  half-stifled  sigh,  "  for  it's  getting 
-late,  and  I  have  five  miles  to  walk." 

And,  undetained  by  Mrs.  Gray's  slow  but 
honest  entreaij  to  stay  and  share  their 
supper,  he  left.  Et^phel  lighted  him  out. 
As  she  closed  the  parlour  4ooy,  he  looked  at 
her,  and  lowering  his  voice,  he  ^^^^  hesitat- 
ingly : 

''  I  couldn't  see  her,  could  I,  Miss  Gil'^jJ" 

Poor  Kachel  hesitated.  She  knew  th^* 
she  should  get  scolded  if  she  comphed  ;  but 
then,  he  looked  at  her  with  such  beseeching 
eyes — he  wished  for  it  so  very  much.  Kind- 
ness prevailed  over  fear ;  she  smiled,  and 
treading  softly,  led  the  way  up-stairs.  As 
softly,  he  followed  her  up  into  the  little  back 
room. 

Mary  was  fast  asleep ;  her  hands  were 
folded  over  the  coverlet  of  variegated  patch- 
work ;    her  head  lay  slightly  turned  on  the 


RACHEL   GRAY.  73 

wMte  pillow  ;  tlie  frill  of  her  cap  softly  shaded 
her  pale  young  face,  now  slightly  flushed  with 
sleep.  Her  father  bent  over  her  with  fond 
love,  keeping  in  his  breath.  Kachel  held 
the  light  ;  she  turned  her  head  away,  that 
Mr.  Jones  might  not  see  her  eyes,  fast  filling 
with  tears.  "  Oh  !  my  father — my  father  !  " 
she  thought,  '^  never  have  you  looked  so  at 
your  child — never — never  ! '' 

On  tip-toe,  Mr.  Jones  softly  withdrew,  and 
stole  downstairs. 

"  I'd  have  kissed  her,"  he  whispered  to 
Kachel,  as  she  opened  the  door  for  him,  "  but 
it  might  have  woke  her  out  of  that  sweet 
sleep.''     • 

And  away  he  went,  happy  to  have  pur- 
chased, by  a  ten  miles  walk  after  a  day's  hard 
labour,  that  look  at  his  sleeping  child. 

"  Oh,  Lord !  how  beautiful  is  the  love 
Thou  hast  put  into  the  hearts  of  Thy  crea- 
tures !  "  thought  Kachel  Gray  ;  and  though  it 
had  not  been  her  lot  to  win  that  love,  the 


74  BACHEL   GRAY. 

thought  was  to  her  so  sweet  and  so  lovely, 
that  she  bore  without  repining  her  expected 
scolding. 

"  Mrs.  Gray  had  never  heard  of  such  a 
think — never." 


CHAPTER    V. 

The  ricli  man  has  his  intellect,  and  its 
pleasures ;  he  has  his  books,  his  studies,  his 
club,  his  lectures,  his  excursions ;  he  has 
foreign  lands,  splendid  cities,  galleries,  mu- 
seums, ancient  and  modern  art :  the  poor 
man  has  his  child,  soKtary  delight  of  his 
hard  tasked  life,  only  solace  of  his  cheerless 
home. 

Richard  Jones  had  but  that  one  child,  that 
peevish,  sickly,  fretful  little  daughter ;  but 
she  was  his  all.  He  was  twenty-one,  when  the 
grocer  in  whose  shop  his  youth  had  been  spent, 
died  a  bankrupt,  leaving  one  cliild,  a  daughter, 
a  pale,  sickly  young  creature  of  seventeen, 
called  Mary  Smith. 

Richard  Jones  had  veneration  large.     He 


76  KACHEL   GRAY. 

had  always  felt  for  this  young  lady  an  awful 
degree  of  respect,  quite  sufficient  of  itself  to 
preclude  love,  had  he  been  one  to  know  this 
beautiful  feeling  by  more  than  hearsay — 
which  he  was  not.  Indeed,  he  never  could 
or  would  have  thought  of  Mary  Smith  as 
something  less  than  a  goddess,  if,  calling  at 
the  house  of  the  relative  to  whom  she  had 
gone,  and  finding  her  in  tears,  and,  on  her 
own  confession,  very  miserable,  he  had  not 
felt  moved  to  offer  himself,  most  hesitatingly, 
poor  fellow  !  for  her  acceptance. 

Miss  Smith  gave  gracious  consent.  They 
were  married,  and  lived  most  happily  together. 
Poor  little  Mary's  temper  was  none  of  the 
best ;  but  Kichard  made  every  allowance : 
"  Breaking  down  of  the  business — father's 
death — having  to  marry  a  poor  fellow  like 
him,  &c."  In  short,  he  proved  the  most 
humble  and  devoted  of  husbands,  toiled  like 
a  slave  to  keep  his  wife  like  a  lady,  and  never 
forgot  the  honour  she  had  conferred  upon 
him  ;  to  this  honour  Mrs.  Jones  added,  after 


RACHEL    GRAY.  77 

three  years,  by  presenting  him  with  a  sickly 
baby,  which,  to  its  mother's  name  of  Mary, 
proudly  added  that  of  its  maternal. grandfather 
Smith. 

A  year  after  the  birth  of  Mary  Smith 
Jones,  her  mother  died.  The  affections  of 
the  widower  centred  on  his  child ;  he  had, 
indeed,  felt  more  awe  than  fondness  for  his 
deceased  wife — love  had  never  entered  his 
heart ;  he  carried  it  with  him,  pure  and  vir- 
gin, to  the  grave,  impressed  with  but  one 
image — that  of  his  daughter. 

He  reared  his  little  baby  alone  and  unaided. 
Once,  indeed,  a  female  friend  insisted  on  re- 
lieving him  from  the  charge  ;  but,  after  sur- 
rendering his  treasure  to  her,  after  spending  a 
sleepless  night,  he  rose  with  dawn,  and  went 
and  fetched  back  his  darling.  During  his 
wife's  lifetime,  he  had  been  employed  in  a 
large  warehouse  ;  but  now,  in  order  to  stay  at 
home,  he  turned  basket-maker.  His  child 
slept  with  him,  cradled  in  his  arms ;  he 
washed,    combed,    dressed    it    himself    every 


78  BACHEL  GKAY. 

morning,  and  made  a  woman  of  himself  for 
its  sake. 

When  Mary  grew  up,  her  father  sent  her 
to  school,  and  resumed  his  more  profitable 
out-door  occupation.  After  a  long  search  and 
much  deliberation,  he  prenticed  her  to  Rachel 
Gray,  and  with  her  Mary  Jones  had  now  been 
about  a  month. 

"  How  pretty  she  looked,  with  that  bit  of 
pink  on  her  cheek,"  soliloquized  Eichard 
Jones,  as  he  turned  round  the  corner  of  the 
street  on  his  way  homewards ;  and  fairer 
than  his  mistress's  image  to  the  lover's  fancy, 
young  Mary's  face  rose  before  her  father  on 
the  gloom  of  the  dark  night.  A  woman's 
voice  suddenly  broke  on  his  reverie.  She 
asked  him  to  direct  her  to  the  nearest  grocer's 
shop. 

"I  am  a  stranger  to  the  neighbourhood," 
he  rephed  ;  "  but  I  dare  say  this  young  person 
can  tell  us  ; "  and  he  stopped  a  servant-girl, 
and  put  the  question  to  her. 

"  A  grocer's  shop  ?  "  she  said,  "  there's  not 


RACHEL   GRAY.  79 

one  witliin  a  mile.  You  must  go  down  the 
next  street  on  your  right-liand,  turn  into  tlie 
alley  on  your  left,  then  turn  to  your  right 
again,  and  if  you  take  the  fifth  street  after 
that,  it  will  take  you  to  the  Teapot." 

She  had  to  repeat  her  directions  twice  be- 
fore the  woman  fairly  understood  them. 

"  What  a  chance  ! "  thought  Jones,  as  he 
again  walked  on  ;  "  not  a  grocer's  shop  within 
a  mile.  Now,  supj)ose  I  had,  say  fifty  pounds, 
just  to  open  with,  how  soon  the  thing  would 
do  for  itself.  And  then  I'd  have  my  little 
Mary  at  home  with  me.  Yes,  that  would  be 
something  ! " 

Ay ;  the  shop  and  Mary  ! — ambition  and 
love  !  Ever  since  he  had  dealt  tea  and  sugar 
in  Mr.  Smith's  establishment,  Kichard  Jones 
had  been  haunted  with  the  desire  to  become  a 
tradesman,  and  do  the  same  thing  in  a  shop  of 
his  own.  But,  conscious  of  the  extravagant 
futility  of  this  wish,  Jones  generally  consoled 
himself  with  the  thought  that  grocer's  shops 


80  KACHEL    GRAY. 

were  as  tMck  as  mushrooms,  and  that,  capital 
or  no  capital,  there  was  no  room  for  him. 

And  now,  as  he  walked  home,  dreaming, 
he  could  not  but  sigh  ;  for  there  was  room, 
he  could  not  doubt  it — but  where  was  the 
capital?  He  was  still  vaguely  wondering  in 
his  own  mind,  by  what  magical  process  the 
said  capital  could  possibly  be  called  up,  when 
he  reached  his  own  home.  There  he  found 
that,  in  his  absence,  a  rudely  scrawled  scrap  of 
paper  had  been  slipped  under  his  room  door ; 
it  was  to  the  following  purport : 

"Dear  J., 
"  Als  up  ;  farm  broke.     Weral  inn  for  it. 
"  Yours, 

"S.S." 

This  laconic  epistle  signified  that  the  firm 
in  whose  warehouse  Kichard  Jones  was  em- 
ployed, had  stopped  payment.  Kich  men  lost 
their  thousands,  and  eat  none  the  worse  a  din- 
ner ;  Richard  Jones  lost  his  week's  wages,  his 


EACHEL    GRAY.  81 

future  employment,  and  remained  stunned  with 
the  magnitude  of  the  blow. 

His  first  thought  flew  to  his  child. 

"  How  shall  I  pay  Miss  Gray  for  my  little 
Mary's  keep  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  inwardly. 

He  cast  his  look  round  the  room  to  see  what 
he  could  pledge  or  sell.  Alas !  there  was 
little  enough  there.     His  next  feeling  was, 

"  My  darling  must  know  nothing  about  it. 
Thank  God,  she  is  not  with  me  now  !  Thank 
God  ! " 

But,  though  this  was  some  sort  of  comfort, 
the  future  still  looked  so  dark  and  threatening, 
that  Jones  spent  a  sleepless  night,  tossing  in 
his  bed,  and  groaning  so  loudly,  that  his  land- 
lady forsook  her  couch  to  knock  at  his  door, 
and  inquire,  to  his  infinite  confusion,  "  if  Mr. 
Jones  felt  poorly,  and  if  there  was  anything 
she  could  do  for  him,  and  if  he  would  like  some 
hot  ginger?"  To  which  Mr.  Jones  replied, 
with  thanks,  ''that  he  was  quite  well,  much 
obhged  to  her  all  the  same." 

After  this  significant  hint,  he  managed  to 
4* 


82  RACHEL    GRAY. 

keep  quiet.  Towards  morning,  he  fell  asleep, 
and  dreamed  lie  had  found  a  purse  full  of 
guineas,  and  that  he  was  going  to  open  a 
grocer's  shop,  to  be  called  the  Teapot. 

Eichard  Jones  was  sober,  intelligent  enough 
for  what  he  had  to  do,  and  not  too  intelligent 
— which  is  a  great  disadvantage  ;  he  bore  an 
excellent  character ;  and  yet,  somehow  or  other, 
when  he  searched  for  employment,  there  seemed 
to  be  no  room  for  him  ;  and  had  he  been  a 
philosopher,  which,  most  fortunately  for  his 
peace  of  mind,  he  was  not,  he  must  inevitably 
have  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  in  this  world 
he  was  not  wanted. 

We  are  not  called  upon  to  enter  into  the 
history  of  his  struggles.  He  maintained  a 
sort  of  precarious  existence,  now  working  at 
this,  now  working  at  that  ;  for  he  was  a  Jack 
of  all  trades,  and  could  turn  his  hand  to  any- 
thing, but  certain  of  no  continual  employment. 
How  he  went  through  it  all,  still  paying  Miss 
Gray,  still  keeping  up  a  decent  appearance, 
contracting  no  debts,  the  pitying  eye  which 


RACHEL   GRAY.  83 

alone  looks  down  on  tlie   bitter  trials  of  the 
poor,  also  alone  knows. 

The  poorer  a  man  gets,  the  more  he  thinks 
of  wealth  and  money  ;  the  narrower  does  the 
world  close  around  him,  and  all  the  wider  grows 
the  world  of  his  charms.  The  shop,  which  had 
only  been  a  dormant  idea  in  Kichard  Jones's 
mind,  now  became  a  living  phantom  ;  day  and 
night,  morn  and  noon  it  haunted  him.  When 
he  had  nothing  to  do — and  this  was,  unfortu- 
nately, too  often  the  case — he  sought  intuitively 
the  suburb  where  Kachel  G-ray  dwelt ;  ascer- 
tained, over  and  over,  that  within  the  mile 
circuit  of  that  central  point  there  did  not  exist 
one  grocer's  shop,  and  finally  determined  that 
the  precise  spot  where,  for  public  benefit  and 
its  own  advantage,  a  grocer's  shop  should  be, 
was  just  round  the  corner  of  the  street  next  to 
that  of  Kachel  G-ray,  in  a  dirty  little  house, 
now  occupied  by  a  rag  and  bottle  establishment, 
with  very  dirty  windows,  and  a  shabby  black 
doll  dangling  like  a  thief,  over  the  doorway ; 
spite  of  which  enticing  prospect,  the  rag  and 


84  RACHEL    GRAY. 

bottle  people  seemed  to  thrive  but  indifferently, 
if  one  might  judge  from  the  sulky,  ill-tempered 
looking  woman,  whom  Jones  always  saw  within, 
sorting  old  rags,  and  scowling  at  him  when- 
ever she  caught  him  in  the  act  of  peering  in. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  no  surprise,  though 
with  some  uneasiness,  that  coming  one  day  to 
linger  as  usual  near  the  place,  Jones  found 
the  rag  and  bottle  shop  closed,  the  black  doll 
gone,  and  the  words,  "To  let "  scrawled,  in 
white  chalk,  on  the  shutters.  Convinced  that 
none  but  a  grocer  could  take  such  a  desirable 
shop,  and  desirous,  at  least,  to  know  when  this 
fated  consummation  was  to  take  place,  Jones 
took  courage,  and  went  on  as  far  as  Kachel 
Gray's. 

Jane,  the  grim  apprentice,  opened  to  him, 

"  There's  no  one  at  home,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Jones  pleaded  fatigue,  and  asked  to  be 
permitted  to  rest  awhile.  She  did  not  oppose 
his  entrance,  but  grimly  repelled  all  his  at- 
tempts at  opening  a  conversation.     He  entered 


RACHEL   GRAY.  85 

on  that  most  innocent  topic,  the  weather,  and 
praised  it. 

"  It  has  been  raining/'  was  Jane's  emphatic 
reply. 

"  Oh  !  has  it  ?  What's  them  bells  ringing 
for,  I  wonder." 

"  They  aint  a  ringing  ;  they're  a  tolling." 

Mr.  Jones,  rather  confused  at  being  thus 
put  down  by  a  girl  of  sixteen,  coughed  behind 
his  hand,  and  looked  round  the  room  for  a  sub- 
ject. He  found  none,  save  a  general  inquiry 
after  the  health  of  Mary,  Mrs.  Gray,  and  Miss 
Gray. 

"  They're  all  well  enough,"  disdainfully  re- 
plied Jane. 

"Oh,  are  they  !  I  see  the  rag  and  bottle 
shop  is  shut,"  he  added,  plunging  desperately 
into  the  subject. 

"  Spose  it  is  !  "  answered  Jane,  eyeing  him 
rather  defiantly  ;  for  the  rag  and  bottle  woman 
was  her  own  aunt  ;  and  she  thought  the  ob- 
servation of  a  personal  nature. 

Though  much  taken  aback,  Jones,  spurred 


86  EACHEL   GRAY. 

on  by  the  irresistible  wish  to  know,  ventured 
on  another  question. 

"  You  don't  know  who  is  going  to  take  it 
next,  do  you  1 " 

"  Oh  !  you  want  to  take  it,  do  you  ?  "  said 
Jane. 

"  I — I !  "  exclaimed  Jones,  flurried  and  dis- 
concerted. ^^  La,  bless  the  young  woman  i  I 
aint  in  the  rag  and  bottle  line,  am  I  ?  " 

He  thought  by  this  artful  turn  to  throw 
his  young  enemy  off  the  scent ;  but  her  re- 
joinder showed  him  the  futility  of  the  attempt. 

^^  I  didn't  say  you  was,  did  I  ?  "  she  replied, 
drily. 

Jones  rose  precipitately,  and  hastily  desir- 
ing his  love  to  Mrs.  Grray,  and  his  respects  to 
Mary,  he  retreated  most  shamefully  beaten. 
He  did  not  breathe  freely  until  he  reached 
the  end  of  the  street,  and  once  more  found 
himself  opposite  the  closed  rag  shop.  How  he 
had  come  there,  he  did  not  rightly  know  ;  for 
it  was  not  his  way  home.  But,  being  there, 
he  naturally  gave  it  another  look.     He  stood 


RACHEL    GRAY.  87 

gazing  at  it  very  attentively,  and  absorbed  in 
thought,  when  he  was  roused  by  a  sharp  voice, 
which  said, 

"  P'raps  you'd  like  to  see  it  within." 

The  voice  came  from  above.  Eichard 
looked  up.  The  first  floor  window  was  open, 
and  a  man's  head  was  just  thrust  out  of  it. 
It  looked  down  at  him  in  the  street,  and  ap- 
parently belonged  to  a  little  old  man,  to  whom 
one  very  sharp  eye — the  other  was  closed  up 
quite  tight — and  a  long  nose,  which  went  all 
of  one  side,  gave  a  rather  remarkable  appear- 
ance. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Jones,  rather 
confused.     "  I— I—" 

Before  he  had  got  to  the  end  of  his  speech, 
the  old  man  vanished  from  the  window,  and 
suddenly  appeared  at  the  private  door,  beckon- 
ing him  in. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said,  coaxingly,  like  an  ogre 
luring  in  an  unwary  little  boy. 

And,  drawn  as  by  a  magnet,  Jones  entered. 

"  Dark  passage,  but  good  shop,"  said  the 


88  KACHEL   GKAY. 

old  man.  He  opened  a  door^  and  in  tlie  shop 
suddenly  stepped  Ricliard  Jones.  It  was  small, 
dirty,  and  smelt  of  grease  and  old  rags. 

"  Good  shop/'  said  the  old  man,  rubbing 
his  hands  in  seeming  great  glee  ;  "  neat  back 
parlour  ; ''  he  opened  a  glass  door,  and  Jones 
saw  a  triangular  room,  not  much  larger  than  a 
good-sized  cupboard. 

"  More  rooms  up-stairs,"  briskly  said  the 
old  man ;  he  nimbly  darted  up  an  old  wooden 
staircase,  that  creaked  under  him.  Mechani- 
cally Jones  followed.  There  were  two  rooms 
on  the  upper  and  only  storey  ;  one  of  moderate 
size  ;  the  other,  a  little  larger  than  the  back 
parlour. 

"  Grood  shop,"  began  the  old  man,  reckoning 
on  his  fingers,  ^'  ca-pital  shop  ;  neat  j)arlour — 
very  neat ;  upper  storey,  two  rooms  ;  one 
splen-did  ;  cosy  bedroom  ;  rent  of  the  whole, 
only  thirty-five  pounds  a-year — only  thirty-five 
pounds  a-year  !  " 

The  repetition  was  uttered  impressively. 

"  Thank  you — much  obhged  to  you,"  began 


RACHEL   GRAY.  89 

Kichard  Jones,  wisliing  himself  fairly  out  of 
the  place  ;  ^'  but  you  see — " 

"  Stop  a  bit/'  eagerly  interrupted  the  old 
man,  catching  Jones  by  the  button-hole,  and 
fixing  him,  as  the  ^  Ancient  Mariner '  fixed  the 
wedding  guest,  with  his  glittering  eye,  "  stop 
a  bit  ;  you  take  the  house,  keep  shop,  parlour, 
and  bedroom  for  yourself  and  family — plenty  ; 
furnish  front  room,  let  it  at  five  shillings  a 
week  ;  fifty-two  weeks  in  the  year  ;  five  times 
two,  ten — put  down  naught,  carry  one  ;  ^yq 
times  five,  twenty-five,  and  one,  twenty-six — 
two  hundred  and  sixty  shillings,  make  thirteen 
pounds ;  take  thirteen  pounds  from  thirty- 
five—" 

"  Law  bless  you,  Sir  1  "  hastily  interrupted 
Jones,  getting  frightened  at  the  practical  land- 
lord view  the  one-eyed  and  one-sided-nosed  old 
man  seemed  to  take  of  his  presence  in  the 
house.  "  Law  bless  you.  Sir !  it's  all  a  mistake, 
every  bit  of  it." 

"  A  mistake  !  "  interrupted  the  old  man,  his 


90  RACHEL  GRAY. 

voice  rising  shrill  and  loud.  "A  mistake  !  five 
times  two,  ten — '' 

"Well,  but  I  couldn't  think  of  such  a 
thing/'  in  his  turn  interrupted  Jones.     "  I — " 

"  Well  then,  say  thirty  pound/'  pertina- 
ciously resumed  the  old  man;  "take  thirteen 
from  thirty — " 

"  No,  I  can't  then — really,  I  can't,"  des- 
perately exclaimed  Jones ;  ^^  on  my  word  I 
can't." 

"  Well,  then,  say  twenty-five ;  from  twenty- 
five  take  thirteen — " 

"  I  tell  you,  'tain't  a  bit  of  use  your  taking 
away  thirteen  at  that  rate,"  interrupted  Jones, 
rather  warmly. 

"  And  what  will  you  give,  then  ?  "  asked 
the  old  man  with  a  sort  of  screech. 

"  Why,  nothing ! "  impatiently  replied 
Jones.  "  Who  ever  said  I  would  give  any- 
thing?    I  didn't— did  I?" 

"Then  what  do  you  come  creeping  and 
crawling  about  the  place  for  ?  "  hissed  the  old 
man,  his  one  eye  glaring  defiance  on  Jones, 


RACHEL   GRAY.  91 

"  eh !  just  tell  me  that.  Why,  these  two 
months  you've  crept  and  crept,  and  crawled 
and  crawled,  till  you've  sent  the  rag  and  bottle 
people  away.  ^  Sir,'  says  the  rag  and  bottle 
woman  to  me,  '  Sir,  we  can't  stand  it  no  longer. 
There's  a  man,  Sir,  and  he  prowls  around  the 
shop.  Sir,  and  he  jist  looks  in,  and  darts  off 
agin,  and  he  won't  buy  no  rags,  and  he  hasn't 
no  bottles  to  sell ;  and  my  husband  and  me. 
Sir,  we  can't  stand  it — that's  all.'  Well,  and 
what  have  you  got  to  say  to  that,  I  should  like 
to  know  ?  " 

Jones,  who  never  had  a  very  ready  tongue, 
and  who  was  quite  confounded  at  the  accusa- 
tion, remained  dumb. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  you  are,  though,"  cried 
the  old  man,  his  voice  rising  still  higher  with 
his  wrath  ;  "  you  are  a  crawHng,  creeping,  low, 
sneaking  fellow  ! " 

"  Now,  old  gentleman  !  "  cried  Jones,  in  his 
turn  losing  his  temper,  "just  keep  a  civil 
tongue  in  your  head,  will  you  ?  /  didn't  ask 
to  come  in,  did  I  ?     And  if  I  did  look  at  the 


92  RACHEL  GRAY. 

sliop  at  times,  why,  a  cat  can  look  at  a  king, 
can't  he  ?  " 

Spite  of  the  excellence  of  the  reasoning 
thus  popularly  expressed,  Jones  perceived  that 
the  old  man  was  going  to  renew  his  offensive 
language,  and  as  he  wisely  mistrusted  his  own 
somewhat  hasty  temper,  he  prudently  walked 
downstairs,  and  let  himself  out.  But  when  he 
reached  the  street,  the  old  man's  head  was 
already  out  of  the  first-floor  window,  and  Jones 
turned  the  corner  pursued  with  the  words 
" creeping,"  "crawling."     He  lost  the  rest. 


CHAPTEK    VI. 

Kachel  sat  alone,  working  and  tkinking. 
The  dull  street  was  silent ;  the  sound  and  stir 
of  morning,  alive  elsewhere,  reached  it  not ; 
hut  the  sky  was  clear  and  hlue,  and  on  that 
azure  field  mounted  the  burning  sun,  gladden- 
ing the  very  house-roofs  as  he  went,  and  filling 
with  light  and  life  the  quiet  parlour  of  Eachel 
Gray. 

Mrs.  Gray  was  an  ignorant  woman,  and  she 
spoke  bad  English  ;  but  her  literary  tastes  were 
superior  to  her  education  and  to  her  language. 
Her  few  books  were  good — they  were  priceless  ; 
they  included  the  poetical  works  of  one  John 
Milton.  Whether  Mrs.  Gray  understood  him 
in  all  his  beauty  and  sublimity,  we  know  not, 
but  at  least,  she  read  him,  seriously,  conscien- 


94  RACHEL   GRAY. 

tiously — and  many  a  fine  lady  cannot  say  as 
mucli.  Racliel,  too,  read  Milton,  and  loved 
him  as  a  fine  mind  must  ever  love  that  noble 
poet.  That  very  morning,  she  had  been  reading 
one  of  his  sonnets  too  little  read,  and  too  little 
known.  We  will  give  it  here,  for  though,  of 
course,  all  our  readers  are  already  acquainted 
with  it,  it  might  not  be  present  to  their 
memory. 

"  When  I  consider  now  my  light  is  spent 
Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 
And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide, 
Lodg'd  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent. 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he,  returning,  chide ; 
'  Doth  God  exact  day-labour,  light  denied  ? ' 
I  fondly  ask :  but  Patience  to  prevent 

That  murmur,  soon  replies,  '  God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work,  or  his  own  gifts ;  who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best ;  his  state 

Is  kingly ;  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed. 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest ; 
They  also  serve,  who  only  stand  and  wait.' " 

"  '  They  also  serve,  who  only  stand  and  wait.'  " 


RACHEL   GRAY.  95 

thought  Kachel,  brooding  over  the  words,  as  was 
her  wont,  "  and  that  is  my  case.  Oh,  God !  I 
stand  and  wait,  and  alas  !  I  do  nothing,  for  I 
am  bhnd,  and  ignorant,  and  helpless,  and  what 
am  I  that  the  Lord  should  make  use  of  me  ; 
yet,  in  this  goodness,  my  simple  readiness  to  do 
His  will.  He  takes  as  good  service.  Oh,  Kachel  1 
happy  Kachel !  to  serve  so  kind  a  master." 

Her  work  dropt  on  her  lap  ;  and  so  deep 
was  her  abstraction,  that  she  heard  not  the  door 
opening,  and  saw  not  Eichard  Jones,  until  he 
stood  within  a  few  paces  of  her  chair.  She 
gave  a  slight  start  on  perceiving  him  ;  and  her 
nervous  emotion  was  not  lessened,  by  remarking 
that  he  was  rather  pale  and  looked  excited. 

"  Mary  is  very  well,"  she  said  hastily,  and 
half  smiling  at  the  supposed  alarm  which  had, 
she  thought,  brought  him  so  suddenly  in  upon 
her. 

"Of  course  she  is — of  course  she  is,"  he 
replied,  nodding  ;  then,  drawing  a  chair  near  to 
Kachel's,  he  sat  down  upon  it,  and,  bending  for- 


96  EACHEL   GRAY. 

ward,  with  his  two  hands  resting  on  his  knees, 
he  said,  in  a  deep,  impressive  whisper, 

"  Miss  G-ray,  may  I  speak  to  you  ?  I  want 
you  to  advise  me,"  he  added,  after  a  shght 
pause. 

"  To  advise  you,  Mr.  Jones  !  "  echoed  Kachel, 
looking  up  at  him,  with  mild  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  Miss  G-ray,"  he  firmly  replied  ;  and, 
slightly  clearing  his  throat,  he  thus  began : 
"  Miss  G-ray,  I  aint  a  known  you  very  long ; 
but  there  aint  another  in  this  wide  world  whom 
I  respect  as  I  do  you.  And  I  think  I  have 
proved  it ;  for  haven't  I  given  you  my  little 
Mary  ?  I  couldn't  do  more.  Miss  Gray,"  he 
added,  with  energetic  earnestness.  "  Yes,  Miss 
Gray,  I  do  respect  you  ;  and  that  is  why  I  want 
you  to  advise  me.  Now,  this  is  the  whole 
story : — 

"  From  a  boy,  Miss  Gray,  I  have  wished  to 
be  in  business.  I  was  in  business  at  Mr. 
Smith's,  Mr.  Smith  was  the  grandfather  of  my 
little  Mary,  but  not  on  my  account  ;  and  that's 
not  quite  the  same  thing,  you  see.     And  I  have 


RACHEL   GRAY.  97 

wished  to  be  in  the  grocery  line,  in  particular, 
because  of  understanding  it  so  much  better, 
from  having  been  brought  up  to  it,  like.  Now, 
Miss  Grray,  here's  the  plain  truth  of  the  case. 
Some  time  ago,  I  found  out,  by  chance,  that 
there  was  not — actually,  that  there  was  not  a 
grocer's  shop  in  this  immediate  vicinity ! " 
Here  Mr.  Jones  held  up  his  forefinger  by  way  of 
note  of  admiration.  "Well,  Miss  Grray,"  he  re- 
sumed impressively,  "  that  thought  haunted  me. 
Why  here  was  the  very  place  for  me  !  A  grocer 
was  wanted.  I  found  out,  too,  that  the  rag  and 
bottle  shop  round  the  comer  was  just  the  place 
for  me,  and  the  people  left,  too  ;  but  bless  you. 
Miss  Gray,  'twas  all  not  a  bit  of  use — for  why 
— I  hadn't  got  no  capital !  Well,  Miss  Gray, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  a  cousin  of  mine 
has  just  died,  and  left  me  all  she  had,  poor 
thing,  and  that  was  sixty  pound.  Now,  Miss 
Gray,  what  I  want  to  know  is  this  : — do  you 
think  that  as  a  father — that  is,  the  father  of  my 
little  Mary — I'm  justified  in  risking  that  money 


98  RACHEL   GRAY. 

by  setting  up  a  shop,  or  tliat  it's  my  duty  to 
keep  it  all  up  for  tlie  cliild  ?  " 

He  looked  earnestly  in  Kacliel's  face.  Ay, 
tlie  cliild  ;  it  was  still  the  child,  and  always 
the  child.  His  own  was  not  his  own — it  was 
but  a  trust  held  for  his  little  Mary. 

"  Truly,  Mr.  Jones,"  said  Eachel,  smiHng, 
"  you  can  do  what  you  like  with  your  own.'' 

"No,  indeed,  Miss  Gray,"  he  rejoined,  a 
little  warmly,  "  I  must  think  of  my  httle  Mary 
first ;  and  you  see  the  whole  question  is,  which 
is  best  for  her.  Why,  I  aint  slep  these  three 
nights  with  thinking  on  it,  and  so,  at  last,  I 
thought  I'd  come  to  you." 

"Who  had  ever  asked  Kachel  for  advice  ! 
Kachel  the  simpleton — Kachel  the  slighted  and 
laughed-at  dressmaker  ?  Little  did  Mr.  Jones 
know  how  nervous  he  made  the  poor  girl ;  be- 
sides, she  felt  quite  bewildered  at  the  strange 
views  he  took  of  the  case  he  submitted  to  her. 
At  length  she  gathered  courage,  and  looking 
earnestly  in  his  face  with  her  mild  brown  eyes, 
she  spoke. 


KACHEL    GRAY.  99 

"Mr.  Jones,"  she  said,  "it  seems  to  me 
tliat  as  the  money  is  yours,  and  that  as  your 
intentions  are  to  turn  it  to  a  good  account,  you 
have  a  right  to  do  with  it  as  you  please.  I 
think,  too,  that  you  are  Hkely  to  do  very  well 
as  a  grocer,  for  we  really  do  want  one  about 
here.  But  I  only  tell  you  what  I  think.  I  do 
not  advise.  I  really  cannot.  If  you  want 
advice,  Mr.  Jones,  why,  ask  it  of  one  who 
cannot  mistake,  for  He  is  not  liable  to  human 
error — ask  it  of  God  Almighty." 

Richard  Jones  scratched  his  head,  then 
hung  it  down  ashamed.  If  he  had  dared,  he 
would  have  asked  of  Rachel  how  he  was  to  ask 
of  God  to  advise  him,  and,  especially,  how  he 
was  to  get  the  answer  !  Poor  feUow  !  he  had 
an  excellent  heart,  some  faith,  much  charity, 
but  the  world's  net  was  around  him.  His  Hfe 
was  not  like  that  of  Rachel  Gray — a  heaven 
upon  earth.  And  Rachel,  who  laboured  under 
the  disadvantages  of  a  narrow  education,  and  a 
narrow  Hfe,  who  had  not  enough  knowledge  and 
enough  experience  of  human  nature  to  under- 


100  RACHEL   GRAY. 

stand  clearly  that  there  were  states  of  mind 
worlds  lower  than  her  own,  did  not  suspect  that 
she  had  given  Richard  Jones  the  worst  of  all 
advice — that  which  the  receiver  cannot  follow. 

Alas  1  who  talks  of  God  now  !  who  listens 
like  Adam  in  Eden  to  the  voice  of  the  Lord, 
and  treasures  in  his  or  her  own  heart  that 
source  of  all  knowledge  ?  And  we  complain 
that  God  goes  away  from  us  ;  that  His  face  is 
dark,  and  behind  the  cloud  ;  that  in  the  days 
of  adversity  we  find  him  not. 

Jones  rose  confused,  muttered  thanks,  then 
hastily  changed  the  subject  by  asking  to  see  his 
daughter.  Even  as  he  spoke,  the  door  opened, 
and  Mary  entered. 

She  did  not  show  much  pleasure  or  surprise 
on  seeing  her  father ;  it  was  not  that  she  did 
not  love  him,  but  she  was  a  spoiled  child,  too 
much  accustomed  to  his  fondness  and  devotion 
to  set  great  value  on  either.  She  complained 
of  the  heat,  then  of  the  cold,  sat  down,  got  up 
again,  and  gave  herself  all  the  airs  of  a  preco- 
cious woman.     Her  father,  leaning  on  his  stick, 


RACHEL   GRAY.  101 

looked  at  her  with  admiring  fondness,  and 
occasionally  nodded  and  winked  at  Kachel,  as 
if  inviting  her  to  admire  likewise.  At  length, 
with  a  half-stifled  sigh — for  he  never  parted 
from  his  darling  without  regret — ^he  again  said 
he  must  go. 

"And  so,  good-bye,  my  little  Mary,"  he 
added,  kissing  her,  but  the  peevish  child  half- 
turned  her  head  away,  and  said  his  beard  hurt 
her.  "  You  hear  her.  Miss  Gray,''  he  ex- 
claimed, chucMing,  "  does  not  care  a  pin  for 
her  old  father,  not  a  pin,''  and  chucking  Mary's 
chin,  he  looked  down  at  her  fondly. 

"  Dear  me,  father,  how  can  you  ?  "  asked 
the  young  lady,  rather  pettishly.  Upon  which, 
Mr.  Jones  shook  his  head,  looked  delighted, 
and  at  length  managed  to  tear  himself  away. 

"And  is  it  thus,  indeed,  that  fathers  love 
their  daughters  ?  "  thought  Eachel  Gray,  as 
she  sat  alone  in  the  little  back  room  on  the 
evening  of  that  day.  "  And  is  it  thus,  indeed  ! 
Oh  !  my  father — my  father  !  " 

She   laid    down   the    book    she   had   been 


102  KACHEL   GKAY. 

attempting  to  read.  She  leaned  her  brow  upon 
her  hand  ;  she  envied  none,  but  her  heart  felt 
full  to  overflowing.  Since  the  night  when  she 
had  gone  to  look  at  her  father,  as  we  have 
recorded,  Eachel  had  not  felt  strong  or  courage- 
ous enough  to  attempt  more.  Her  nature  was 
timid,  sensitive  and  shrinking  to  a  fault,  and 
circumstances  had  made  it  doubly  so,  yet  the 
repeated  sight  of  Kichard  Jones's  devoted  love 
for  his  child,  inspired  her  with  involuntary 
hope.  She  had  grown  up  in  the  belief  of  her 
father's  rooted  indifference  ;  might  she  not  have 
been  mistaken  .?  was  it  not  possible  that  his 
daughter  could  become  dear  to  Thomas  Gray, 
as  other  daughters  were  dear  to  their  father  ? 
Rachel  had  always  cherished  the  secret  hope 
that  it  would  one  day  be  so,  but  because  that 
hope  was  so  precious,  she  had  deferred  risking 
it,  lest  it  should  perish  irretrievably.  She  now 
felt  inwardly  urged  to  make  the  attempt. 
Why  should  she  not,  like  the  prodigal  son,  rise 
and  go  to  her  father  ?  "I  will,''  she  thought, 
clasping  her  hands,  her  cheeks   flushing,  her 


RACHEL    GRAY.  103 

eyes  kindling,  "  yes,  I  will  go  to-morrow,  and 
my  father  shall  know  his  daughter ;  and, 
perhaj)s,  who  knows,  perhaps  God  Almighty 
will  bless  me." 

Here  the  sound  of  a  sudden  tumult  in  the 
little  court  close  by,  broke  on  the  dream  of 
Kachel  Gray.  She  looked,  and  she  saw  and 
heard  Madame  Kose  gesticulating  and  scold- 
ing, to  the  infinite  amusement  of  a  crowd  of 
boys,  who  were  teazing  the  idiot  girl.  The 
wrath  of  Madame  Kose  was  something  to  see. 
Having  first  placed  her  protegee  behind  herself 
for  safety — as  if  her  own  little  body  could  do 
much  for  the  protection  of  another  twice  its 
size — Madame  Eose  next  put  herself  in  an 
attitude,  then  expostulated  with,  then  scolded, 
then  denounced  the  persecutors  of  the  helpless 
idiot ;  after  which  washing  her  hands  of  them, 
she  walked  backwards  to  her  cellar,  scorning  to 
turn  her  back  to  the  foe.  But  the  enemy, 
nothing  daunted,  showed  evident  intentions  of 
besieging  her  in  her  stronghold,  and  though 
Madame   Kose   made   her   appearance   at   the 


104  RACHEL   GEAY. 

window,  armed  with  a  broomstick,  slie  failed  to 
strike  that  terror  into  the  hearts  of  her  assail- 
ants, which  the  formidable  nature  of  the 
weapon  warranted.  Fortunately,  however,  for 
the  peace  of  the  little  French  lady,  that  vahant 
knight-errant  of  modern  times,  the  poHceman, 
having  made  his  appearance  at  the  entrance  of 
the  court,  a  scutter,  then  a  rushing  flight,  were 
the  immediate  consequence.  Ignorant  of  this 
fact,  Madame  Kose  ascribed  the  result  entirely 
to  her  own  prowess,  and  in  all  peace  of  mind 
proceeded  to  cook  her  supper.  Then  followed 
the  little  domestic  scenes  which  Kachel  Hked 
to  watch. 

As  Kachel  looked,  she  took  a  bold  resolve, 
and  this  was  to  pay  Madame  Kose  a  visit. 
They  had  met,  the  day  before,  in  the  street ; 
and  Madame  Kose  had  addressed  a  long  and 
voluble  discourse  to  Kachel,  in  French,  con- 
cluding with  an  invitation  to  visit  her,  which 
Kachel  had  understood,  and  smiHngly  accepted. 

And  now  was  the  favourable  moment  to 
carry  this  project  into  effect.     From  the  little 


RACHEL   GRAY.  105 

room,  Kachel  heard  Mrs.  Brown's  loud  voice 
below  in  the  parlour.  Mrs.  Gray  was  fully 
engaged,  and  not  likely  to  mind  her  daughter's 
absence.     Unheeded,  Kachel  shpped  out. 

A  few  minutes  brought  her  round  to  the 
little  court,  and  to  the  house  inhabited  by 
Madame  Kose.  It  was  dingy,  noisy  and  dirty  ; 
and  as  she  gro^^ed  and  stumbled  down  the  dark 
staircase,  Eachel  half  repented  having  come. 
The  voice  of  Madame  Eose  directed  her  to  the 
right  door — for  there  were  several.  She  knocked 
gently  ;  a  shrill  "  entrez,"  which  she  rightly 
interpreted  as  a  summons  to  enter,  was  uttered 
from  within ;  and  pushing  the  door  open,  Eachel 
found  herself  in  the  abode  and  presence  of 
Madame  Eose. 

She  was  received  with  a  storm  of  enthu- 
siasm, that  rather  bewildered  than  pleased  her. 
Madame  Eose  welcomed  her  in  a  torrent  of 
speech,  with  a  multiphcity  of  nods  and  winks, 
and  shrugs,  and  exclamations,  so  novel  in  the 
experience  of  Eachel  Gray,  that  she  began  to 
wonder  how  much  truth  there  might  be  in  the 

5* 


106  KACHEL    GRAY. 

epitliet  occasionally  bestowed  on  Madame.  Kose. 
For,  first  of  all,  she  insisted  on  cooking  a  dish 
of  onion  sonp  for  her  expressly,  a  kindness 
which  Eachel  had  all  the  trouble  in  the  world 
to  resist  ;  and  next,  this  point  settled,  she  was 
loud  and  unceasing  in  the  praise  of  the  poor 
idiot  girl,  who  sat  mowing  in  her  chair.  Kachel 
went  and  sat  near  her,  and  spoke  to  her,  but 
she  only  got  an  unintelligible  murmur  for  a 
reply.  Madame  Kose  shook  her  head,  as  much 
as  to  say  that  the  attainments  of  Mimi — so 
she  called  her — did  not  include  speech.  But 
Mimi  was  very  good — very  good  indeed,  only 
she  could  not  talk,  which  was  "  bien  dommage," 
added  Madame  Eose,  as,  had  she  only  been 
able  to  speak,  Mimi  would  certainly  have  done 
it  charmingly. 

"  You  should  see  her  eating  onion  soup," 
enthusiastically  added  Madame  Kose.  "It  is 
beautiful !  "  Then,  seeing  that  Kachel  was 
engaged  in  scrutinizing,  with  a  pitying  glance, 
the  ragged  attire  of  her  protegee,  Madame 
Rose  jealously  informed  her  that,  as  yet,  the 


RACHEL   GRAY.  107 

toilette  of  Mimi  had  been  a  little  neglected, 
certainly  ;  but  that,  "  with  time,  and  the  help 
of  God/'  added  Madame  Kose,  "  Mimi  should 
want  for  nothing." 

"  I  have  an  old  dress  at  home,  that  will  just 
do  for  her,"  timidly  said  Kachel.  "  Shall  I 
bring  it  to-morrow  night  ?  " 

Madame  Kose  coughed  dubiously — she  had 
not  understood  ;  but  a  perfect  knowledge  of 
the  English  tongue,  in  all  its  most  deHcate  in- 
tricacies, was  one  of  her  vanities.  So,  bending 
her  head  of  one  side,  and  patting  her  ear,  as  if 
to  imply  that  there  lay  the  fault,  she  evidently 
requested  Eachel  to  repeat.  She  did  so  ;  and 
this  time,  Madame  Eose  caught  enough  of  her 
meaning  to  misunderstand  her. 

"  I  understand — I  understand  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, triumphantly;  and  setthng  Mimi  in 
her  chair,  she  told  her  to  be  good,  for  that  she 
was  only  going  to  fetch  her  an  elegant  dress 
presented  to  her  by  the  goodness  of  Made- 
moiselle, and  that  she  would  be  back  in  an 
incredibly   short   space   of  time ;    after  which 


108  KACHEL   GRAY. 

exhartatioiij  Madame  Kose  prepared  to  accom- 
pany Kacliel. 

In  vain,  poor  Eachel,  alarmed  at  the  pros- 
pect of  her  mother's  anger,  endeavoured  to 
explain  that  she  would  bring  the  dress.  Ma- 
dame Eose,  still  triumphantly  asserting  that 
she  understood,  insisted  on  going  out  with  her 
guest,  and  actually  walked  with  her  to  her 
very  door.  In  great  trepidation,  Eachel  opened 
it,  and  unconscious  of  peril  or  offence,  Madame 
Eose  entered,  clattering  along  the  passage  in 
her  wooden  shoes  ;  but  Mrs.  Brown's  voice  was 
just  then  at  the  loudest ;  the  noise  was  not 
heeded. 

Eachel  took  her  up-stairs  to  the  little  back- 
room, and  left  her  there,  whilst  she  looked  in 
the  room  which  she  shared  with  her  mother,  for 
the  dress  she  wished  to  give  Mimi ;  she  soon 
came  back  with  it,  tied  in  a  pai-cel,  and  now 
devoutly  wished  that  she  could  see  Madame 
Eose  safe  out  of  the  place.  But  Madame 
Eose  was  in  no  mood  to  go.  She  had  recognized 
the  room  and  window  where  she  so  often  saw 


RACHEL    GRAY.  109 

Kachel;  and  she  intimated  as  mucli,  by  a 
lively  pantomime  ;  first  taking  up  a  book,  she 
held  it  before  her,  pretending  to  read ;  then 
she  pointed  to  her  forehead,  to  imply  that 
Kachel  was  a  tliinker  ;  and  finally,  to  the  horror 
and  dismay  of  Rachel,  Madame  Rose  shut  her 
eyes,  opened  her  mouth,  and  warbled  a  suffi- 
ciently correct  imitation  of  the  old  hundredth. 

The  window  was  open ;  and  even  Mrs. 
Brown's  voice  could  not  drown  these  strange 
tones.  They  reached  the  ear  of  Mrs.  Gray  ; 
and  before  Rachel  had  fairly  recovered  from  the 
surprise  and  alarm  into  which  the  musical  out- 
burst of  Madame  Rose  had  thrown  her,  her 
step-mother  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  little 
back-room,  and,  in  stern  and  indignant  accents, 
asked  to  know  the  meaning  of  what  she  heard 
and  saw.  But,  before  Rachel  could  reply,  the 
French  costume  of  Madame  Rose  had  betrayed 
her. 

Mrs.  Gray  was  of  Scotch  descent,  and  she 
had  some  of  the  old  puritan  spirit,  to  which. 


110  RACHEL    GRAY. 

in  the  course  of  a  long  life,  she  had  added  a 
plenteous  store  of  stubborn  English  prejudices. 

Madame  Kose  was  "  an  idolatrous  furriner  ! " 
"  a  French  beggar  !  "  too  ;  and  that  she  should 
have  darkened  her  doors  ! — that  she  should  be 
familiarly  sitting  under  her  roof^ — chattering  and 
singing  in  a  back  room,  with  her  daughter,  was 
an  intolerable  insult,  a  wrong  not  to  be  borne. 

"  I  am  amazed  at  you,  Kachel !  "  she  said, 
her  voice  quivering  with  indignation.  "I  am 
amazed  at  you.  How  dare  you  do  sich  a 
thing  ! " 

The  tones  and  the  attitude  of  Mrs.  Gray 
were  not  to  be  misunderstood  ;  nor  was  little 
Madame  Rose  so  dull  as  to  mistake  them. 
She  saw  that  her  presence  was  not  welcome, 
and,  with  great  dignity,  rose  and  took  her  leave. 
Crimson  with  pain  and  shame,  Rachel  followed 
her  out.  She  gave  Madame  Rose  an  humble 
and  imploring  glance,  as  they  parted  at  the 
door,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  know  I  could 
not  help  it."  But  the  appeal  was  not  needed. 
To  her  surprise,  Madame  Rose  remained  very 


RACHEL   GRAY.  Ill 

good-humoured.  She  even  laughed  and  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  French  fashion,  and  indulged  in 
a  variety  of  pantomimic  signs,  closing  with  one 
more  intelligible  than  the  rest :  a  significant 
tap  of  her  forefinger  on  her  brown  forehead,  and 
by  which  Madame  Eose  plainly  intimated  it  to 
be  her  firm  conviction  that  the  intellect  of  Mrs. 
Grray  was  unfortunately  deranged.  Thus  they 
parted. 

Violent  were  the  reproaches  with  which 
Mrs.  Gray  greeted  her  daughter's  reappearance. 
She  exacted  a  strict  and  rigid  account  of  the 
rise  and  progress  of  Kachel's  acquaintance  with 
that  "  mad  French  beggar  ; "  was  horror-struck 
on  learning  that  the  back-room  window  had 
been  made  the  medium  ;  and  not  satisfied  with 
prohibiting  future  intercourse,  took  the  most 
effective  means  to  prevent  it,  by  locking  up  the 
guilty  room,  and  putting  the  key  in  her  pocket. 

To  all  this  Kachel  submitted  ;  though,  when 
she  saw  the  door  of  her  much-loved  retreat 
closing  on  her,  her  heart  ached.  But  when,  in 
the  height  of  her  anger,  Mrs.  Gray  railed  at  the 


112  KACHEL   GRAY. 

poor  little  Frencliwomaii,  as  little  better  than 
an  idolater  or  an  infidel,  Eachel  felt  as  if  it 
touched  her  honour,  not  to  suffer  this  slur  on 
her  humble  friend. 

"Mother/'  she  said,  with  some  firmness, 
"  you  cannot  tell  what  she  is  ;  for  you  know 
nothing  of  her,  save  by  idle  reports.  I  have 
watched  her  life  day  after  day,  and  I  have  seen 
that  it  is  holy.  And  mother,"  added  Kachel, 
slightly  colouring,  from  the  fervour  with  which 
she  felt  and  spoke,  "  you  know  it  as  I  do  :  all 
hohness  comes  from  God." 

Unable  to  contradict,  Mrs.  Gray  sniffed 
indignantly. 


CHAPTEE    YII. 

Hard  indeed  were  the  days  that  followed 
for  Kachel  Grray.  The  old  quarrel  had  begun 
anew.  Why  was  she  not  like  every  one  ? 
Why  did  she  pick  up  strange  acquaintances  ? 
— above  all,  why  did  she  mope  and  want  to  be 
in  the  little  back  room  ?  It  was  strange,  and 
Mrs.  Gray  was  not  sure  that  it  was  not  wicked. 
If  so,  it  was  a  wickedness  of  which  she  effec- 
tually deprived  Kachel,  by  keeping  the  back 
room  locked,  and  the  key  in  her  pocket. 

But,  hard  as  this  was,  it  was  not  aU. 
Amongst  Kachers  few  treasures,  were  little 
pamphlets,  tracts,  old  sermons,  scraps  of  all 
sorts,  a  Httle  hoard  collected  for  years,  but  to 
their  owner  priceless.  She  did  not  read  them 
daily ;  she  had  not  time  ;  but  when  she  was 


114  KACHEL   GKAY. 

alone,  she  took  them  out,  now  and  then,  to  look 
at  and  think  over.  On  the  day  that  followed 
the  affair  of  Madame  Kose,  Mrs.  Gray  dis- 
covered Eachel's  hoard. 

"  More  of  Kachers  ruhbish  !  "  she  thought, 
and  she  took  the  papers  to  the  kitchen,  and  lit 
the  fire  with  them  forthwith. 

"  Oh,  mother  !  what  have  you  done  !  "  cried 
Eachel,  when  she  discovered  her  loss. 

"Well,  what  about  it  ?  "  tartly  asked  Mrs. 
Gray. 

A  few  silent,  unheeded  tears  Eachel  shed, 
but  no  more  was  said. 

But  her  very  heart  ached  ;  and,  perhaps, 
because  it  did  ache,  her  longing  to  go  and  see 
her  father  returned  all  the  stronger.  The  whole 
day,  the  thought  kept  her  in  a  dream. 

"  I  never  saw  you  so  mopish,"  angrily  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Gray,  "never  !" 

Eachel  looked  up  in  her  mother's  face,  and 
smiled  so  pleasantly,  that  Mrs.  Gray  was  a 
little  softened,  she  herself  knew  not  why ;  but 
the  smile  was  so  very  sweet. 


RACHEL   GRAY.  115 

And  again  Kachel  sat  up  that  night,  when 
all  were  sleeping  in  the  little  house  ;  again  she 
burned  her  precious  candle  ends,  and  sat  and 
sewed,  to  finish  the  last  of  the  half-dozen  of 
fine  linen  shirts,  begun  a  year  before,  purchased 
with  the  few  shillings  she  could  spare  now  and 
then  from  her  earnings,  and  sewed  by  stealth, 
in  hours  robbed  from  the  rest  of  the  night,  after 
the  fatigue  of  the  day.  But,  sj)ite  of  all  her 
efforts  to  keep  awake,  she  fell  asleep  over  her 
task.  When  she  awoke,  daylight  gleamed 
through  the  chinks  of  the  shutters  ;  it  was 
morning.  She  opened  the  window  in  some 
alarm  ;  but  felt  relieved  to  perceive  that  it  was 
early  yet.  The  street  was  silent ;  every  window 
was  closed  ;  the  sky,  still  free  from  smoke,  was 
calm  and  pure  ;  there  was  a  peace  in  this  still- 
ness, which  moved  the  very  heart  of  Kachel 
Gray.  She  thought  of  the  calm  slumbers  of 
the  two  millions,  who,  in  a  few  hours,  would  fiH 
the  vast  city  with  noise,  agitation  and  strife  ; 
and  she  half  sadly  wondered  that  for  the  few 
years  man  has  to  spend  here  below,  for  the  few 


116  KACHEL   GKAY. 

wants  and  cravings  lie  derives  from  nature,  lie 
should  think  it  needful  to  give  away  the  most 
precious  hours  of  a  short  life,  and  devote  to 
ceaseless  toil  every  aspiration  and  desire  of  his 
heart. 

It  was  too  late  to  think  of  going  to  bed, 
which  would,  besides,  have  exposed  her  to  dis- 
covery. So,  after  uniting  her  morning  and 
evening  prayers  in  one  long  and  fervent  petition 
of  Hope  and  Love,  she  went  back  to  her  work, 
finished  the  little  there  was  to  do,  then  carefully 
folded  up  the  six  shirts,  and  tied  them  up  in  a 
neat  parcel. 

When  this  was  done,  Eachel  busied  herself 
with  her  usual  tasks  about  the  house,  until  her 
mother  came  down.  It  was  no  uncommon  thing 
for  Eachel  to  get  up  early,  and  do  the  work, 
while  her  mother  still  slept ;  and,  accordingly, 
that  she  should  have  done  so,  as  Mrs.  Gray 
thought,  drew  forth  from  her  no  comment  on 
this  particular  morning.  Everything,  indeed, 
seemed  to  favour  her  project ;  for,  in  the  course 


RACHEL   GRAY.  117 

of  the  day,  Mrs.  Gray  and  Jane  went  out.  Ka- 
chel  remained  alone  with  Mary. 

"  Why,  how  merry  you  are  to-day,  Miss  ! " 
said  Mary,  looking  with  wonder  at  Eachel,  as 
she  busied  herself  about  the  house,  singing  by 
snatches. 

"It  is  such  a  fine  day,"  replied  Kachel ; 
she  opened  the  ]3arlour  window  ;  in  poured  the 
joyous  sunshine — the  blue  sky  shone  above  the 
dull  brick  street,  and  the  tailor's  thrush  began 
to  sing  in  its  osier  cage.  "  A  day  to  make  one 
happy,"  continued  Kachel  ;  and  she  smiled  at 
her  own  thoughts  ;  for  on  such  a  beautiful  day, 
how  could  she  but  prosper  ?  "  Mary,''  she 
resumed  after  a  pause,  "  you  will  not  be  afraid, 
if  I  go  out,  and  leave  you  awhile  alone,  will 
you.?" 

"La,  bless  you  !  no.  Miss  G-ray,"  said  Mary, 
smiling.  "  Are  you  afraid  when  you  are 
alone  ?  "  she  added,  with  a  look  of  superiority  ; 
for  she,  too,  seeing  every  one  else  around  her  do 
it,  unconsciously  began  to  patronize  Kachel. 

"  Oh,  no  ! "   simply  replied  Kachel  Gray, 


118  RACHEL    GEAY. 

too  well  disciplined  into  humility  to  feel  offended 
with  the  pertness  of  a  child,  "I  am  never 
afraid  ;  but  then,  I  am  so  much  older  than 
you.  However,  since  you  do  not  mind  it,  I 
shall  go  out.  Either  Jane  or  my  mother  will 
soon  be  in,  and  so  you  will  not  long  remain 
alone,  at  all  events." 

"  La,  bless  you !  I  don't  mind,"  replied 
Mary,  again  looking  superior. 

And  now,  Kachel  is  gone  out.  She  has 
been  walking  an  hour  and  more.  Again,  she 
goes  through  a  populous  neighbourhood,  and 
through  crowded  streets  ;  but  this  time,  in  the 
broad  daylight  of  a  lazy  summer  afternoon. 
Kachel  is  neither  nervous  nor  afraid — not,  at 
least,  of  anything  around  her.  On  she  goes, 
her  heart  full  of  hope,  her  mind  full  of  dreams. 
On  she  goes  :  street  after  street  is  passed ;  at 
length,  is  reached  the  street  where  Thomas 
Gray,  the  father  of  Eachel  Hves. 

She  stops  at  the  second-hand  ironmonger's 
and  looks  at  the  portraits  and  the  books,  and 


RACHEL   GRAY.  119 

feels  faint  and  hopeless,  and  almost  wishes  that 
her  father  may  not  be  within. 

Thomas  Gray  was  at  his  work,  and  there 
Avas  a  book  by  him  at  which  he  glanced  now 
and  then,  Tom  Fame's  "Eights  of  Man." 
There  was  an  empty  pewter  pot  too,  and  a 
dirty  pubhc-house  paper,  from  which  we  do  not 
mean  to  have  it  inferred  that  Thomas  Gray  was 
given  to  intoxication.  He  was  essentially  a 
sober,  steady  man,  vehement  in  nothing,  not 
even  in  pohtics,  though  he  was  a  thorough 
Kepublican. 

Thomas  Gray  was  planing  sturdily,  enjoy- 
ing the  sunshine,  which  fell  full  on  his  meagre 
figure.  It  was  hot ;  but  as  he  grew  old  he 
grew  chilly,  when,  suddenly,  a  dark  shadow 
came  between  him  and  the  light.  He  looked 
up,  and  saw  a  woman  standing  on  the  threshold 
of  his  shop.  She  was  young  and  simply  clad, 
tall  and  slender,  not  handsome,  and  very  timid 
looking. 

"  Walk  in,  ma'am,"  he  said,  civilly  enough. 


120  RACHEL   GRAY. 

The  stranger  entered ;  he  looked  at  her, 
and  she  looked  at  him. 

"  Want  anything  ?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

She  took  courage  and  spoke. 

"  My  name  is  Kachel,"  she  said. 

He  said  nothing. 

"  Kachel  Grray/'  she  resumed. 

He  looked  at  her  steadily,  but  he  was  still 
silent. 

"I  am  your  daughter,"  she  continued,  in 
faltering  accents. 

"  Well !  I  never  said  you  was  not,''  he 
answered  rather  drily.  "  Come,  you  need  not 
shake  so  ;  there's  a  chair  there.  Take  it  and 
sit  down." 

Rachel  obeyed  ;  but  she  was  so  agitated 
that  she  could  not  utter  one  word.  Her  father 
looked  at  her  for  awhile,  then  resumed  his  work. 
Eachel  did  not  speak — she  literally  could  not. 
Words  would  have  choked  her ;  so  it  was 
Thomas  Gray  who  opened  the  conversation. 

"Well,  and  how's  the  old  lady.?"  he 
asked. 


RACHEL   GRAY.  121 

"  My  mother  is  quite  well,  thank  you,  sir," 
replied  Eachel.  The  name  of  father  was  too 
strange  to  be  used  thus  at  first. 

"  And  you — how  do  you  get  on  ?  You're 
a  milliner,  stay-maker — ant  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  dress-maker  ;  but  I  can  do  other 
work,"  said  Eachel,  thinking  this,  poor  girl ! 
a  favourable  opening  for  her  present. 

"  I  have  made  these  for  you,"  she  added, 
opening  and  untying  her  parcel,  and  displaying 
the  shirts  to  her  father's  view,  and  as  she  did 
so,  she  gazed  very  wistfully  in  his  face. 

He  gave  them  a  careless  look. 

"  Why,  my  good  girl,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
dozens  of  shirts — dozens  !  " 

And  he  returned  to  his  work,  a  moment 
interrupted. 

Tears  stood  in  Kachel's  eyes. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  began,  "  but — but  I  did 
not  know  ;  and  then  I  thought — I  thought  you 
might  like  them." 

"  'Tant  of  much  consequence,"  he  philoso- 
phically replied,   "thank  you  all    the    same. 

6 


122  KACHEL   GRAY. 

Jim,"  he  added,  hailing  a  lad  who  was  passing 
by,  "just  teU  them  at  the  '  Kose '  to  send  down 
a  pint  of  half-and-half,  will  you  ?  I  dare  say 
you'll  have  something  before  you  go,'*  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  his  daughter.  "If  you'll 
just  look  in  there,"  he  added,  jerking  his  head 
towards  the  back  parlour,  "you'll  find  some 
bread  and  cheese  on  the  table,  there's  a  plate 
too." 

Eachel  rose  and  eagerly  availed  herself  of 
this  invitation,  cold  though  it  was  ;  she  felt 
curious  too,  to  inspect  her  father's  domestic 
arrangements.  She  was  almost  disappointed  to 
find  everything  so  much  more  tidy  than  she 
could  have  imagined.  She  had  hoped  that  her 
services  as  house-keeper  might  be  more  required, 
either  then,  or  at  some  future  period  of  time. 
She  sat  down,  but  she  could  not  eat. 

"  Here's  the  half-and-half,"  said  her  father 
from  the  shop. 

Kachel  went  and  took  it ;  she  poured  out 
some  in  a  glass,  but  she  could  not  drink  ;  her 
heart  was  too  full. 


KACHEL   GRAY.  123 

"  You'd  better/'  said  her  father,  who  had 
now  joined  her. 

^^  I  cannot/'  replied  Rachel,  feehng  ready 
to  cry,  "  I  am  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty, 
thank  you/' 

"Oh!  ain't  you?"  said  her  father,  "yet 
you  have  a  long  walk  home,  you  know." 

It  was  the  second  time  he  said  so.  Rachel 
looked  up  into  his  face  ;  she  sought  for  some- 
thing there,  not  for  love,  not  for  fondness, 
but  for  the  shadow  of  kindness,  for  that  which 
might  one  day  become  affection — she  saw 
nothing  but  cold,  hard,  rooted  indifference. 
The  head  of  Rachel  sank  on  her  bosom, 
"The  will  of  God  be  done,"  she  thought. 
With  a  sigh  she  rose,  and  again  looked  up  in 
her  father's  face. 

"  Good  bye,  father,"  she  said,  for  her 
father  she  would  call  him  once  at  least. 

"  Good  bye,  Rachel,"  he  replied. 

She  held  out  her  hand  ;  he  took  it  with 
the  same  hard  indifference  he  had  shown 
from    the  beginning.      He   did    not   seek    to 


124  RACHEL   GRAY. 

detain  her ;  he  did  not  ask  her  to  come 
again.  His  farewell  was  as  cold  as  had  been 
his  greeting.  Kachel  left  him  with  a  heart 
full  to  bursting.  She  had  not  gone  ten  steps 
when  he  called  her.  She  hastened  back ;  he 
stood  on  the  threshold  of  his  shop,  a  news- 
paper in  his  hand. 

"  Just  take  that  paper,  and  leave  it  at  the 
'  Kose/  will  you  ?  You  can't  miss  the  '  Kose/ 
— it's  the  pubhc-house  round  the  left-hand 
corner." 

"  Yes,  father,"  meekly  said  Kachel.  She 
took  the  paper  from  his  hand,  turned  away, 
and  did  as  she  was  bid. 

Her  errand  fulfilled,  Kachel  walked  home. 
There  were  no  tears  on  her  cheek,  but  there 
was  a  dull  pain  at  her  heart ;  an  aching 
sorrow  that  dwelt  there,  and  that — do  what 
she  would — would  not  depart.  In  vain  she 
said  to  herself — "  It  was  just  what  I  ex- 
pected ;  of  course,  I  could  not  think  it  would 
come  all  in  a  day.  Besides,  if  it  be  the  will 
of   God,   must   I   not   submit?"    still  disap- 


RACHEL    GRAY.  125 

pointment  murmured  :  ^^  Oh  !  but  it  is  hard  ! 

not  one  word,  not  one  look,  not  one  wish  to  see 
me  again  ;  nothing — nothing/' 

It  was  late  when  Rachel  reached  home. 
Mrs.  Gray,  confounded  at  her  step-daughter's 
audacity  in  thus  again  absenting  herself  with- 
out leave,  had,  during  the  whole  day,  amassed 
a  store  of  resentment,  which  now  burst  forth 
on  Eachel's  head.  The  irritable  old  lady 
scolded  herself  into  a  violent  passion.  Eachel 
received  her  reproaches  with  more  of  apathy 
than  of  her  usual  resignation.  They  were 
alone  ;  Jane  and  Mary  had  retired  to  their 
room.  Rachel  sat  by  the  table  where  the 
supper  things  were  laid,  her  head  supported 
by  her  hand.  At  the  other  end  of  the  table 
sat  Mrs.  Gray  erect,  sharp,  bitter  ;  scolding 
and  railing  by  turns,  and  between  both  burned 
a  yellow  tallow  candle  unsnuffed,  dreary  look- 
ing, and  but  half  lighting  the  gloomy  little 
parlour. 

"  And   so  you  won't  say  where  you  have 
been,  you  good-for-nothing  creature,"  at  length 


126  KACHEL   GRAY. 

cried  Mrs.  Gray,  exasperated  by  her  daughter's 
long  silence. 

Kachel  looked  up  in  her  step-mother's 
face. 

"  You  did  not  ask  me  where  I  had  been," 
she  said  dehberately.  "  I  have  been  to  see  my 
father." 

Not  one  word  could  Mrs.  Gray  utter. 
The  face  of  Kachel,  pale,  desolate,  and  sor- 
row-stricken, told  the  whole  story.  Eachel 
added  nothing.  She  lit  another  candle,  and 
merely  saying,  in  her  gentle  voice — 

"  Good  night,  mother,"  she  left  the  room. 

As  Eachel  passed  by  the  little  room  of  the 
apprentices,  she  saw  a  streak  of  light  gliding 
cut  on  the  landing,  through  the  half-open 
door.  She  pushed  it,  and  entered.  Jane  sat 
reading  by  the  little  table  ;  Mary  lay  in  bed, 
but  awake. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  up,"  said 
Kachel  to  Jane,  "and  seeing  a  light,  I  felt 
afraid  of  fire." 

"  Not   much  fear  of  fire,"  drily  answered 


KACHEL   GRAY.  127 

Jane.      Kachel  did    not  heed    her — she  was 
bending  over  Mary. 

"  How  are  you  to-night,  Mary  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  quite  well,"  pettishly  answered 
Mary. 

Kachel  smoothed  the  young  girl's  hair 
away  from  her  cheek.  She  remembered  how 
dearly,  how  fondly  loved  was  that  peevish 
child  ;  and  she  may  be  forgiven  if  she  involun- 
tarily thought  the  contrast  between  that  love, 
and   her   own   portion   of  indifference,   bitter. 

"  Mary,"  she  softly  whispered,  "  did  you 
say  your  prayers  to-night  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  did." 
.    "  And,    Mary,    did     you    pray    for    your 
father?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  sleep,"  crossly 
said  the  young  girl. 

"  Oh  !  Mary— Mary  !  "  exclaimed  Kachel, 
and  there  was  tenderness  and  pathos  in  her 
voice  ;  "  Mary,  I  hope  you  love  your  father — 
I  hope  you  love  him." 


128  BACHEL   GRAY. 

"Who  said  I  didn't?" 

"  Ah  !  but  I  fear  you  do  not  love  him  as 
much  as  he  loves  you." 

"To  he  sure  I  don't/'  replied  Mary,  who 
had  grown  up  in  the  firm  conviction  that 
children  were  domestic  idols^  of  which  fathers 
were  the  born  worshippers. 

"  But  you  must  try — but  you  must  try/' 
very  earnestly  said  Kachel.  "  Promise  me  that 
you  will  try,  Mary." 

She  spoke  in  a  soft,  low  voice  ;  but  Mary, 
wearied  with  the  discourse,  turned  her  head 
away. 

"  I  can't  talk,  my  back  aches,"  she  said 
peevishly. 

"  Mary's  back  always  aches  when  she  don't 
want  to  speak,"  ironically  observed  Jane. 

"  You  mind  your  own  business,  will  you  !  " 
cried  Mary,  reddening,  and  speaking  very  fast. 
"  I  don't  want  your  opinion,  at  all  events  ;  and 
if  I  did— " 

"  I  thought  you  couldn't  talk,  your  back 
ached  so,"  quietly  put  in  Jane. 


RACHEL    GRAY.  129 

Mary  burst  into  peevish  tears.  Jane 
laughed  triumphantly.  Kachel  looked  at  them 
both  with  mild  reproach. 

"  Jane/'  she  said,  "  it  is  wrong — very 
wrong — to  provoke  another.  Mary,  God  did 
not  give  us  tears — and  they  are  a  great  gift  of 
his  mercy — to  shed  them  so  for  a  trifle.  Do  it 
no  more." 

The  two  girls  remained  abashed.  Rachel 
quietly  left  the  room.  She  went  to  her  own. 
She  had  prayed  long  that  morning,  but  still 
longer  did  she  pray  that  night.  For  alas  ! 
— who  knows  it  not — the  wings  of  Hope  would 
of  themselves  raise  us  to  Heaven  ;  but  hard  it 
is  for  poor  Resignation  to  look  up  from  this  sad 
earth. 


6* 


CHAPTER    YIII. 

We  were  made  to  endure.  A  Heathen 
philosopher  held  the  sight  of  the  just  man's 
suffering,  worthy  of  the  Gods,  and  Christi- 
anity knows  nothing  more  beautiful,  more 
holy,  than  the  calm  resignation  of  the  pure 
and  the  lowly,  to  the  will  of  their  Divine 
Father. 

It  was  the  will  of  Heaven  that  Rachel 
should  not  be  beloved  of  her  earthly  father. 
She  bore  her  lot — not  without  sorrow  ;  but,  at 
least,  without  repining.  Perhaps,  she  was 
more  silent,  more  thoughtful,  than  before ; 
but  she  was  not  less  cheerful,  and  in  one  sense 
she  was  certainly  not  less  happy.  Affliction 
patiently  borne  for  the  love  of  the  hand  that 
inflicts  it,  loses   half  its   sting.      The  cup  is 


RACHEL    GRAY.  131 

always  bitter — and  doubly  bitter  shall  it  seem 
to  us,  if  we  drink  it  reluctantly ;  but  if  we 
courageously  drain  it,  we  shall  find  that  the 
last  drop  is  not  like  the  rest.  It  is  fraught 
with  a  Divine  sweetness — it  is  a  precious  bal- 
sam, and  can  heal  the  deepest  and  most  en- 
venomed wound. 

This  pure  drop  Eachel  found  in  her  cup. 
It  strengthened  and  upheld  her  through  her 
trial.  "It  is  the  will  of  God,"  she  repeated 
to  herself— "It  is  the  will  of  God;''  and 
those  simple  words,  which  held  a  meaning 
so  deep,  were  to  Eachel  fortitude  and  conso- 
lation. 

And  in  the  meanwhile,  the  little  world 
around  her,  unconscious  of  her  sufferings  and 
her  trials — for  even  her  mother  could  not 
wholly  divine  them — went  on  its  ways.  Mrs. 
G-ray  grumbled,  Jane  was  grim,  Mary  was 
peevish,  and  Mrs.  Brown  occasionally  dropped 
in  "to  keep  them  going,"  as  she  said  herself. 

As  to  Eichard  Jones,  we  will  not  attempt 
to  describe  the  uneasiness  of  mind  he  endured 


132  KACHEL   GRAY. 

in  endeavouring  to  follow  out  Kachers  advice. 
He  did  not  understand  its  spirit,  which,  in- 
deed, she  could  not  have  explained.  They 
who  make  the  will  of  God  their  daily  law, 
are  guided,  even  in  apparently  worldly  matters, 
— not  indeed,  so  as  never  to  commit  mistakes, 
which  were  being  beyond  humanity,  but  so, 
at  least,  as  to  err  as  little  as  possible  concern- 
ing their  true  motives  of  action.  Our  passions 
are  our  curse,  spiritual  and  temporal ;  and  the 
mere  habit  of  subduing  them  gives  prudence 
and  humility  in  all  things : — wisdom  thus 
becomes  one  of  the  rewards  which  God  grants 
to  the  faithful  servant. 

But  of  this,  what  did  Kichard  Jones — the 
most  unspiritual  of  good  men,  know .?  After 
three  days  spent  in  a  state  of  distracting 
doubt,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was, 
and  must  be  the  will  of  Heaven  that  he  should 
have  a  shop.  Poor  fellow  !  if  he  took  his  own 
will  for  that  of  the  Almighty,  did  he  fall  into  a 
very  uncommon  mistake  ? 

Once  his   mind  was   made  up,  he  turned 


KACHEL    GRAY.  133 

desperate,  went  and  secured  the  shop.  He 
had  all  the  time  been  in  a  perfect  fever,  lest 
some  other  should  forestall  him,  after  which  he 
became  calm.  "  Did  not  much  care  about 
Miss  Gray's  opinion — did  not  see  why  he 
should  care  about  any  one's  opinion,"  and  in 
this  lofty  mood  it  was  that  Kichard  Jones  went 
and  gave  a  loud,  clear,  and  distinct  knock  at 
Mrs.  Gray's  door. 

Dinner  was  over — the  apprentices  were 
working — Eachel  was  dreaming,  rather  sadly, 
poor  girl !  for  she  thought  of  what  was,  and  of 
what  might  have  been.  Mrs.  Gray  was  read- 
ing the  newspaper,  when  the  entrance  of 
Kichard  Jones,  admitted  by  his  daughter, 
disturbed  the  quiet  httle  household.  At  once 
Mrs.  Gray  flew  into  politics. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Jones,"  she  cried,  "  and  how 
are  you  ?  I  suppose  you  know  they  are  raising 
the  taxes — and  then  such  rates  as  we  have, 
Mr.  Jones — such  rates  !  " 

Mrs.  Gray  was  habitually  a  Tory,  and  not  a 
mild   one  ;    but   on  the  subject  of  taxes  and 


134  RACHEL   GRAY. 

rates,  Mrs.  G.ray  was,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  a 
violent  radical.  "  Slie  couldn't  abide  them," 
slie  declared. 

"  And  so  they  are  raising  the  taxes,  are 
they  !  "  echoed  Mr.  Jones,  chuckling.  "  Eh  ! 
but  that  wont  do  for  me,  Mrs.  Gray.  Tm 
turning  householder — and  hard  by  here  too  ! '' 
he  added,  winking. 

Mrs.  Gray  did  not  understand  at  all.  She 
coughed,  and  looked  puzzled.  Mr.  Jones  saw 
that  Kachel  had  not  spoken  to  her.  He  con- 
tinued winking,  chuckling,  and  rubbing  his 
hands  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  am  going  into  business,  Mrs.  Gray.'' 

Mrs.  Gray  was  profoundly  astonished ; 
Mary's  work  dropped  on  her  lap  as  she  stared 
with  open  mouth  and  eyes  at  her  father,  who 
chucked  her  chin  for  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  resumed,  addressing  Mrs.  Gray  ; 
"  I  had  always  a  turn  that  way." 

"  Oh,  you  had  !  " 

"  Always,  Mrs.  Gray ;  but  I  hadn't  got  no 
capital ;    and  for  a  man  to  go  into  business 


RACHEL    GRAY.  135 

without  capital,  why,  ma'am,  it's  like  a  body- 
that  aint  got  no  soul." 

''Don't  talk  so,  Mr.  Jones,"  said  Mrs. 
Gray,  to  whom  the  latter  proposition  sounded 
atheistical,  "  don't !  " 

"  Well,  but  what's  a  man  without  capital?  " 
asked  Mr.  Jones,  unconscious  of  his  offence. 
"  why,  nothink,  Mrs.  Gray,  nothink  !  Well, 
but  that's  not  the  question — I've  got  capital 
now,  you  see,  and  so  I  am  going  to  set  up  a 
grocery  business  in  the  rag  and  bottle  shop 
round  the  corner  ;  and  I  have  called  to  secure 
your  custom — that's  all,  Mrs.  Gray." 

He  winked  and  chuckled  again.  Kachel 
could  not  help  smiling.  Mrs.  Gray  was  grave 
and  courteous,  like  any  foreign  potentate  con- 
gratulating his  dear  brother.  Monsieur  mon 
frere,  on  some  fortunate  event  of  his  reign. 

''  I  called  to  tell  you  that,  Mrs.  Gray,"  re- 
sumed Jones  ;  "  and,  also,  to  ask  a  favour  of 
Miss  Gray.  I  should  be  so  much  obliged  to 
her,  if  she  could  spare  my  little  Mary  for  half 


136  RACHEL    GRAY. 

an  liour  or  so,  just  to  look  over  the  house  with 
me." 

^^  Of  course  she  can/'  replied  Mrs.  Gray  for 
her  meek  daughter.  "  Go  and  put  on  your 
bonnet,  Mary." 

Mary,  whom  the  tidings  of  the  grocer's 
shop  had  most  agreeably  excited,  rose  with 
great  alacrity  to  obey,  and  promptly  returned, 
with  her  bonnet  on. 

It  was  Eachel  who  let  them  out. 

^^  You  need  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  come  back, 
dear,"  she  whispered  ;  "  there's  not  more  work 
than  Jane  and  I  can  well  manage." 

Mary's  only  reply  to  this  kind  speech,  was 
a  saucy  toss  of  the  head.  The  little  thing  al- 
ready felt  an  heiress. 

"  How  much  money  have  you  got,  father?" 
she  promptly  asked,  as  they  went  down  the 
street. 

"  Sixty  pounds,  my  dear." 

*^  Law  !  that  aint  much,"  said  Mary,  as  if 
she  had  rolled  in  guineas  all  her  life. 

"  Well,  it  isn't,"  he  replied  candidly,  and 


BACHEL   GEAY.  137 

exactly  in  tlie  same  spirit ;  for  if  there  is  a 
tMng  people  promptly  get  used  to,  it  is  money. 

Mary  had  always  been  her  father's  confi- 
dante ;  he  now  opened  his  whole  heart  to  her, 
and  was  thereby  much  reheved.  To  his  great 
satisfaction,  Mary  condescended  to  approve  al- 
most without  restriction,  all  he  had  done.  She 
accompanied  him  over  the  house  and  shop — 
thought  "  the  whole  concern  rather  dirty/'  but 
kindly  added,  "  that  when  it  was  cleaned  up  a 
bit,  it  would  do ; "  and  finally  gave  it  as  her 
opinion,  "  that  there  wasn't  a  better  position  in 
the  whole  neighbourhood." 

'^  Of  course  there  aint,"  said  Mr.  Jones, 
sitting  down  on  the  counter.  "  The  good-wives 
must  either  buy  from  me,  or  walk  a  mile. 
Now  it  stands  to  reason  that,  rather  than  walk 
a  mile,  with  babies  crying  at  home,  and  hus- 
bands growling — it  stands  to  reason,  I  say,  that 
they'll  buy  from  me.     Don't  it,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  does." 

"  Well,  that  aint  all.  You  see  I  know  some- 
thing of  business.     The  interest  of  capital  in 


138  KACHEL   GRAY. 

business  ranges  from  ten  to  a  hundred  per 
cent,  according  to  luck  ;  now  I  am  lucky  being 
alone,  so  we'll  say  fifty  per  cent,  whicli  is 
moderate,  aint  it,  Mary  7  " 

'^  Of  course  it  is,"  replied  that  infallible 
authority. 

''  Well  then :  capital,  sixty  pounds;  interest, 
fifty  per  cent.  Why,  in  no  time,  like,  I  shall 
double  my  capital ;  and  when  it's  doubled,  I 
shall  double  it  again — and  so  I'll  go  on  doub- 
ling and  doubling  until  I'm  tired — and  then 
we'll  stop.     Wont  we,  Mary  ?  " 

The  little  thing  laughed ;  her  father  gave 
her  a  Mss  ;  got  up  from  the  counter,  and  with 
the  golden  vision  of  endless  doubling  of  capital 
before  him,  walked  out  of  the  shop. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

What  airs  little  Mary  took ;  how  Jane 
taunted  and  twitted  her,  how  Eachel  had  to 
interfere  ;  how  even  Mrs.  Brown  chose  to  com- 
ment on  the  startling  fact  of  a  new  grocer's 
shop,  and  what  predictions  she  made,  we  leave 
to  the  imagination  of  the  reader. 

We  deal  with  the  great  day,  or  rather  with 
the  eve  of  the  great  day.  It  was  come.  Rachel, 
her  mother,  Mary,  and  Mr.  Jones  were  all  busy 
giving  the  shop  its  last  finishing  touch  ;  on 
the  next  morning  the  Teapot  was  to  open. 

"  WeU,  ]\Iiss  Gray,  'taint  amiss,  is  it  ?  "  said 
Jones,  looking  around  him  with  innocent  satis- 
faction. 

He  was,  as  we  have  said  before,  a  sort  of 
Jack-of-aU-trades,    and   to    him    the    Teapot 


140  RACHEL   GRAY. 

doubly  owed  its  existence.  He  had  painted 
tlie  walls  ;  he  had  fixed  up  the  shelves  in  their 
places  ;  the  drawers  and  boxes  his  own  hands 
had  fashioned.  We  will  not  aver  that  a  pro- 
fessional glazier  and  carpenter  might  not  have 
done  all  this  infinitely  better  than  Kichard 
Jones,  but  who  could  have  worked  so  cheap  or 
pleased  Kichard  Jones  so  well?  And  thus 
with  harmless  pleasure  he  could  look  around 
him  and  repeat  : 

"  Well,  Miss  Gray,  'taint  amiss,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Amiss  !  "  put  in  Mrs.  Gray,  before  her 
daughter  could  speak,  "  I  should  think  not. 
You're  a  clever  man,  Mr.  Jones,  to  have  done 
all  that  with  your  own  hands,  out  of  your  own 
head.'' 

Mr.  Jones  rubbed  his  forehead,  and  passed 
his  hand  through  his  stubby  hair. 

"  Well,  Ma'am,  'taint  amiss,  though  I  say 
it  that  shouldn't,  and  though  'taint  much." 

"  Not  much,  father  !  "  zealously  cried  Mary, 
not  rehsliing  so  much  modesty,  "why,  didn't 
you  nail  them  shelves  with  your  own  hands  ?  " 


RACHEL    GRAY.  141 

"  Well,  child,"  candidly  replied  her  father, 
"  I  think  I  may  say  I  did." 

"And  didn't  you  make  all  them  square 
boxes,  a  whole  dozen  of  them  ?  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue  you  little  chit,  and 
help  Miss  Gray  there  to  put  up  the  jams  and 
marmalades." 

"  And  didn't  you  paint  the  walls  7  "  tri- 
umphantly exclaimed  Mary,  without  heeding 
his  orders. 

"  Who  else  did,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  And  the  counter  !  who  made  the  counter  ?  " 

''  Not  I,  Mary.     I  only  polished  it  up." 

"  Well,  but  what  was  it  before  you  polished 

it  up,  father  ?  "  asked  the  pertinacious  daughter. 

"  Not  much  to  speak  of ;  that's  the  truth. 

Why,  bless  you,  Mrs.  Grray,"  he  added,  turning 

confidentially   towards   her,    "  you   never    saw 

such  a  poor  object  as  that   counter  was  in  all 

your   born  days.     It    caught   my   eye   at   the 

corner  of  one  of  them  second-hand  shops  in 

the  New  Cut.     The  man  was  standing  at  the 

door,  whistling,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 


142  KACHEL   GRAY. 

'  That's  firewood/  says  I  to  him.  '  No  'taint, 
it's  as  good  a  counter  as  ever  a  sovereign  was 
changed  on/  ^  My  good  man/  says  I,  ^  it's 
firewood,  and  I'll  give  you  five  shillings  for  it.' 
Law,  but  you  should  have  seen  how  he  looked 
at  me.  Well,  to  cut  a  long  story  short,  he 
swore  it  was  a  counter,  and  I  swore  it  was  fire- 
wood, and  so,  at  length,  I  give  him  ten  shillings 
for  it,  and  brought  it  home  and  cleaned  it  down, 
and  scraped  the  dirt,  inch  thick,  ofi",  and  washed 
it,  and  painted  it,  and  polished  it,  and  look  at 
it  now,  Mrs.  Gray,  look  at  it  now  ! " 

"  It's  just  like  mahogany  !  "  enthusiastically 
cried  Mary,  ''  ain't  it.  Miss  Gray  ?  " 

"  Not  quite,  dear,"  mildly  said  Kachel,  who 
was  truth  itself,  '^  but  it  looks  very  nice.  But, 
Mr.  Jones,"  she  added,  in  a  low  timid  voice, 
"  why  did  you  tell  the  man  it  was  firewood, 
when  you  meant  it  as  a  counter  ?  " 

Jones  wagged  his  head,  winked,  and  touch- 
ing his  nose  with  his  right  hand  forefinger, 
he  whispered  knowingly :     "  That    was  busi- 


RACHEL    GRAY.  143 

nesSj  Miss  Gray,  and  in  business,  you  know — 
hem  ! " 

"But  the  Tea-pot,  fathei^  cried  Mary, 
"  whereas  the  Tea-pot  ?  " 

"Why,  here's  the  Tea-pot,"  exclaimed 
Jones,  -suddenly  producing  this  masterpiece  of 
art,  and  holding  it  up  aloft  to  the  gaze  of  the 
beholders. 

Such  a  Tea-pot  had  never  been  seen  before, 
and,  most  probably,  will  never  be  seen  again, 
to  the  end  of  time.  Its  shape  we  will  not, 
because  we  ccmnot  describe.  It  confounded 
Kachel,  and  startled  even  Mrs.  Gray.  She 
coughed,  and  looked  at  it  dubiously. 

"  Where's  the  lid?  "  she  said. 

"  Why,  here's  the  lid  ;  but  it  don't  take 
off,  you  know." 

"  Oh  !  I  see.     And  that's  the  handle." 

"  The  handle  !  bless  you,  Mrs.  Gray,  it's 
the  spout." 

"  Well,  but  Where's  the  handle,  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  here's  the  handle,  to  be  sure," 
replied  Jones,  rather  nettled,  "don't  you  see?" 


144  RACHEL   GRAY. 

Mrs.  Grray  said  slie  did  ;  but  we  are  in- 
clined to  believe  sbe  did  not.  However,  Jones 
was  satisfied  ;  and  setting  down  the  wooden 
Tea-pot — we  forgot  to  say  that  it  was  flaming 
red — on  the  counter,  he  surveyed  it  com- 
placently. 

"  I  spent  a  week  on  that  Tea-pot/'  he  said, 
"didn't  I,  Mary?" 

"  Ten  days,  father." 

"  Well,  one  must  not  grudge  time  or  trouble, 
must  one,  Mrs.  Gray  ?  And  now,  ladies,  we'll 
put  away  the  Tea-pot,  and  step  into  the  parlour, 
and  have  a  cup  of  tea,  eh?  " 

With  the  cup  of  tea,  came  a  discussion  of 
the  morrow's  prospects,  and  of  the  ultimate 
destinies  of  the  Tea-pot — the  upshot  of  which 
was,  that  Mr.  Jones  was  an  enterprising  public 
man,  and  destined  to  effect  a  salutary  revolu- 
tion in  the  whole  neighbourhood.  Such,  at 
least,  was  the  opinion  of  Mrs.  Gray,  warmly 
supported  by  Mary.  Mr.  Jones  was  silent, 
through  modesty  ;    Kachel,   because  she  was 


RACHEL    GRAY.  145 

already  thinking  of  other  things.  They  parted 
late,  though  the  Tea-pot  was  to  open  early. 

There  is  a  report  that  it  opened  with  dawn, 
Mr.  Jones  not  having  been  able  to  shut  his 
eyes  all  night  for  excitement.  But  it  is  more 
important  to  record  that,  until  its  close,  late 
on  the  following  evening,  the  Tea-pot  was  not 
one  moment  empty.  Mary  had  remained  at 
home,  to  assist  her  father;  and  she  went 
through  the  day  with  perfect  composure  ;  but 
Mr.  Jones  was  fairly  overpowered :  the  cup 
of  his  honours  was  too  full ;  the  sum  of  his 
joy  was  too  great.  He  blundered,  he  stam- 
mered, he  was  excited,  and  looked  foolish. 
Altogether,  he  did  not  feel  happy,  until  the 
shop  was  shut,  and  all  was  fairly  over.  He 
then  sat  down,  wiped  his  forehead,  and  declared, 
that  since  he  was  married  to  his  dear  little 
Mary's  blessed  mother,  he  had  never  gone 
through  such  a  trying  day — never. 

"  It's  a  fine  thing  Mr.  Jones '  has  under- 
taken," gravely  observed  Mrs.  Gray  to  Mrs. 
Brown. 


146  RACHEL   GRAY. 

But  Mrs.  Brown  was  inclined  to  look  at  tlie 
shady  side  of  the  Tea-pot. 

"  La,  bless  you  ! ''  she  kindly  said,  "  it^ll 
never  do.  I  said  so  from  the  first,  and  I  say 
so  the  last,  it'll  never  do  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes  it  will !  "  grimly  observed  Jane  ; 
"  it  will  do  for  Mr.  Jones,  Mrs.  Brown." 

"  I  hope  not,  Jane,"  said  Kachel,  gravely  ; 
"  and  I  would  rather,''  she  added,  with  some 
firmness,  and  venturing  for  once  on  a  reproof, 
"  I  would  rather  you  did  not  think  so  much  of 
what  evil  may  happen  to  others.  Sufficient  to 
any  of  us  is  it  to  look  forward  to  our  own  share 
of  evil  days." 

She  raised  her  voice  as  she  began  ;  but  it 
sank  low  ere  she  concluded.  Surprised  at  her- 
self for  having  said  so  much,  she  did  not  look 
round,  but  resumed  her  work,  a  moment  in- 
terrupted. The  room  remained  deeply  silent. 
Jane  was  crimson.  For  once,  Mrs.  Gray  thought 
her  daughter  had  spoken  sensibly  ;  and  for 
once,  Mrs.  Brown  found  nothing  to  say. 


CHAPTEK    X. 

A  WEEK  had  passed  over  tlie  Tea-pot,  and, 
sitting  in  tlie  back-parlour  with  Mary,  who  was 
busy  sewing,  Kichard  Jones  dived  deep  into  his 
books,  and  cast  up  his  accounts.  He  allowed 
for  rent,  for  expenditure,  for  household,  for 
extras,  then  his  face,  brimful  of  ill-disguised 
exultation,  he  said  to  his  daughter  :  "  Well, 
Mary,  dear,  'taint  much  to  boast  of,  but  for  a 
first  week,  you  see,  'taint  amiss,  either.  I  find, 
all  expenses  covered,  one  pound  ten  net  profit. 
Now,  you  know,  that  makes,  first,  fifty-two 
pound  a-year ;  then  half  of  fifty-two,  twenty- 
six  ;  add  twenty-six  to  fifty-two,  seventy-eight 
— seventy-eight  pound  a-year,  net  profit.  Well, 
it  stands  to  reason  and  common  sense,  that  as 
I  go  on,  my  business  will  go  on  improving  too  ; 


148  RACHEL   GRAY. 

in  short,  put  it  at  the  lowest — I  hate  exaggera- 
tion—-well  put  it  at  the  lowest,  and  I  may  say- 
that  by  next  Michaelmas,  we  shall  have  a  neat 
hundred." 

"  Law  !  father,  can^t  you  say  a  hundred 
and  fifty  at  once,"  peevishly  interrupted  Mary. 

Mary's  will  was  law. 

''  Well,  I  really  think  I  can  say  a  hundred 
and  fifty,"  ingenuously  replied  Kichard  Jones, 
"  now,  with  a  hundred  and  fifty  pound  for  the 
first  year,  and  just  five  per  cent,  as  increase  of 
profit  for  the  second." 

"  I'm  sure  it'll  be  ten  per  cent,"  again  in- 
terrupted Mary,  who,  from  hearing  her  father, 
had  caught  up  some  of  the  money  terms  of 
this  money-making  world. 

"  Well,  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  would 
not,"  replied  her  docile  papa.  "  We'll  suppose 
it,  at  least ;  well  that'd  be  fifteen  pound  to 
add  to  the  hundred  and  fifty,  or,  rather,  to  the 
three  hundred,  and  then  for  the  next  year  it 
would  be — ^let  me  see  !  Ah  !  "  and  he  scratched 
his  head.     "  I  think  I  am  getting  into  what 


RACHEL   GRAY.  149 

tliey  call  comiDOund  interest,  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  I  never  was  a  very  quick  arithmetician. 
At  all  events,  it  is  pretty  clear  that  at  the  end 
of  ten  years,  we  shall  stand  at  the  head  of 
something  hke  fifteen  hundred  pound,  and  a 
flourishing  house  of  business,"  he  <5idded,  glanc- 
ing towards  the  shop — "  a  flourishing  house  of 
business,"  he  continued,  complacently  passing 
his  fingers  through  his  hair. 

Awhile  he  mused,  then  suddenly  he  ob- 
served :  ''  Mary,  my  dear,  hadn't  you  better 
go  to  bed  ?  "  Mary  now  slept  at  home.  "  You 
have  to  get  up  early,  you  know." 

''  Yes  ;  but  I  ain't  going  to,"  she  tartly 
replied.  "  It  gives  me  a  pain  in  my  side,"  she 
added. 

"  Then  you  shall  not  get  up  early,"  authori- 
tatively said  Mr.  Jones.  "  I'll  not  allow  my 
daughter  to  work  herself  to  death  for  no  Miss 
Grays." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  go  at  all  to-morrow," 
composedly  resumed  Mary.  '^  I  don't  like 
dress-making — it  don't  agree  with  me." 


150  KACHEL   GKAT. 

Mr.  Jones  had  at  first  looked  startled,  but 
this  settled  the  question. 

"  If  dress-making  don't  agree  with  you,  not 
another  stitch  shall  you  put  in,"  he  said,  half 
angrily.  "  I  think  myself  you  don't  look  half 
so  well  as  you  used  to,  and  though  Miss  Gray 
is  as  nice  a  person  as  one  need  wish  to  meet,  I 
think  she  might  have  perceived  it  before  this  ; 
but  interest  blinds  us  all — every  one  of  us," 
he  added,  with  a  philosophic  sigh  over  the  weak- 
nesses of  humanity, 

"  I  know  what  Jane  will  be  sure  to  say," 
observed  Mary  ;  "  but  I  don't  care." 

"  I  should  think  not  !  Law  !  bless  you, 
child,  I  have  got  quite  beyond  troubhng  my 
poor  brains  with  what  other  people  thinks  ; 
and  if  I  choose  to  keep  my  daughter  at  home 
now  that  I  can  afford  to  do  so,  why  shouldn't 
I  ?  It's  a  hard  case  if,  when  a  man's  well  off 
and  comfortable,  and  getting  on  better  and 
better  every  day — it's  a  hard  case,  indeed,  if  he 
can't  keep  his  only  child  with  him." 

This  matter  decided,  Mary  went  up  to  her 


RACHEL   GRAY.  151 

room  ;  her  father  remained  by  the  fireside, 
looking  at  the  glowing  coals,  and  dreaming  to 
his  heart's  content. 

"  If  I  go  on  prospering  so/'  he  thought, 
"  why  should  I  not  take — in  time,  of  course — 
some  smart  young  fellow  to  help  me  in  the 
shop  ?  It  stands  to  reason  that  customers  like 
to  be  served  quickly.  Law,  bless  you  !  they 
hate  waiting,''  he  added,  thoughtfully,  address- 
ing the  fire,  and  giving  it  a  poke,  by  way  of 
comment,  '^  the  ladies  always  hate  it.  But, 
as  I  was  saying,  why  shouldn't  I  take  some 
smart  young  man,  and  he,  of  course — why,  I 
know  what  he'd  do — why,  he'd  faU  in  love  with 
Mary,  of  course — and  why  shouldn't  he  ?  "  in- 
quired Jones,  warming  with  his  subject.  "Was 
I  not  a  poor  feUow  once,  and  did  I  not  marry 
my  master's  daughter  ?  " 

Mr.  Jones  gave  the  fire  another  poke.  In 
the  burning  coals  he  saw  a  pleasing  vision  rise. 
He  saw  his  shop  full  of  customers ;  he  served 
with  slow  dignity,  assisted  by  a  "  tight,  brisk 
young  feUow,"  busy  as  a  bee,  active  as  a  deer, 


152  KACHEL   GKAY. 

for  it  was  Saturday  night,  and  the  fair  maids 
and  matrons  of  the  vicinity  were  all  impatient. 
Then  from  Saturday  it  was  Sunday ;  the  shop 
was  closed,  the  street  was  silent.  Young 
Thomson  was  brushing  his  coat  in  the  yard  and 
whistling ;  Mary  was  upstairs  dressing ;  another 
five  minutes,  and  she  comes  down  in  straw 
bonnet  Kned  with  pink,  clean  printed  muslin 
frock,  mousseline-de-laine  shawl,  brown  boots 
and  blue  parasol.  The  happy  father  saw  them 
going  off  together  with  delighted  eyes  and 
brimful  heart.  Then  other  visions  follow  ;  one 
of  a  wedding  breakfast  at  which  Mr.  Jones 
sings  a  song,  and  another  of  half  a  dozen  grand- 
children, all  tugging  at  his  skirts,  whilst  he 
solemnly  rocks  the  baby,  and  as  solemnly  in- 
forms the  infant :  "  that  he  had  done  as  much 
for  its  mother  once." 

Peace  be  with  such  dreams  whenever  they 
come  to  the  poor  man's  hearth  ! 

A  little  surprised  at  not  seeing  Mary  as 
usual  on  the  following  morning,  and  thinking 
she  might  be  unwell,  Kachel  Gray  sent  Jane  to 


RACHEL    GRAY.  153 

enquire.     Jane  soon  returned,  her  face  biimful 
of  news. 

"Well,"  said  Kachel,  '^how  is  Mary  .?" 
"  Law  bless  you,  Miss,  Mary's  well  enough.' 
"  "Why  did  she  not  come  then  ?  " 
"  She  does  not  like  dress-making  no  more." 
And  Jane  sat  down,  and  took  up  her  work, 
and  became  deeply  absorbed  in  a  sleeve  trim- 
ming.     Kachel   reddened   and   looked   pained. 
She  liked  Mary  ;  the  pale,  sickly  child  reminded 
her  strongly  of  her  own  lost  sister,  and  though 
she  could  allow  for  the  natural  tartness  with 
which  Jane  had  no  doubt  fulfilled  her  errand, 
yet  she  knew  that  Jane  was  true,  and  that  as 
she  represented  it,  the  matter  must  be. 

For  a  while  she  suspended  her  work,  sadly 
wondering  at  the  causeless  ingratitude  of  a  child 
whom  she  had  treated  with  uniform  kindness 
and  indulgence,  then  she  tried  to  dismiss  the 
matter  from  her  mind  ;  but  she  could  not  do  so, 
and  when  dusk  came  round,  her  first  act,  as 
soon  as  she  laid  by  her  work,  was  to  slip 
out  unperceived — for  Mrs.  Grray,  highly  indig- 
7* 


154  EACHEL    GRAY. 

nant  with  Mr.  Jones  and  his  daughter,  would 
certainly  have  opposed  her — and  go  as  far  as 
the  Tea-pot. 

Mr.  Jones  was  serving  a  customer.  He  did 
not  recognize  Rachel  as  she  entered  the  shop, 
and  hastily  called  out : 

"  Mary — Mary,  come  and  serve  the  lady.'' 

"It's  only  me,  Mr.  Jones,"  timidly  said 
Eachel. 

''  Walk  in.  Miss  Gray,"  he  replied,  slightly 
embarrassed,  "  walk  in,  youll  find  Mary  in  the 
back  parlour,  very  glad  to  see  you.  Miss  Gray." 

Much  more  sulky  than  glad  looked  Mary ; 
but  of  this  Rachel  took  no  notice  ;  she  sat 
down  by  the  side  of  the  young  girl,  and,  as  if 
nothing  had  occurred,  spoke  of  the  Tea-pot  and 
its  prospects.  To  which  discourse  Mary  gave 
replies  pertinaciously  sullen. 

"  Mary  ! "  at  length  said  Rachel,  "  why 
did  you  not  come  to  work  to  day,  were  you  un- 
well .?" 

This  simple  question  obtaining  no  reply, 
Rachel  repeated  it ;  still  Mary  remained  silent, 


RACHEL    GRAY.  155 

but  when  a  third  time  Kachel  gently  said  : 
"  Mary,  what  was  it  ailed  you  ? '' 

Mary  began  to  cry. 

"Well,  well,  what's  the  matter? ^'  exclaimed 
her  father,  looking  in,  "you  ain't  been  scolding 
my  little  Mary  have  you,  Miss  Gray?  " 

"  I !  "  said  Rachel,  "  no,  Mr.  Jones,  I  only 
asked  her  why  she  did  not  come  this  morning? '' 

"  Because  I  would  not  let  her,"  he  replied, 
almost  sharply,  "  dress-making  don't  agree 
with  my  Mary,  Miss  Gray,  and  you  know  I 
told  you  from  the  first,  that  if  her  health 
wouldn't  allow  it,  she  was  not  to  stay." 

And  a  customer  calling  him  back  to  the 
shop,  he  left  the  parlour  threshold.  Eachel 
rose. 

"  Good-night,  Mary,"  she  gently  said  ;  "if 
you  feel  stronger,  and  more  able  to  work,  you 
may  come  back  to  me." 

Mary  did  not  reply. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Jones,"  said  Eachel, 
passing  through  the  shop. 

"  Good-night,    Miss    Gray,"     he    repHed, 


156  RACHEL    GRAY. 

formally.  "  My  best  respects  to  Mrs.  Gray, 
if  you  please." 

When  people  have  done  an  insolent  and 
ungrateful  thing,  they  generally  try  to  per- 
suade themselves  that  it  was  a  spirited,  inde- 
pendent sort  of  thing  ;  and  so  now  endeavoured 
to  think  Eichard  Jones  and  his  daughter — but 
in  vain.  To  both  still  came  the  thought  : 
"  Was  this  the  return  to  make  to  Kachel  Gray 
for  all  her  kindness  ?  " 

The  conscience  of  Mr.  Jones,  little  used  to 
such  reflections,  made  him  feel  extremely  un- 
easy ;  and  if  that  of  Mary  was  not  quite  so 
sensitive,  the  dull  routine  of  the  paternal  home 
added  much  force  to  the  conclusion  "  that  she 
had  much  better  have  stayed  with  Miss  Gray." 
Mary  was  too  childish,  and  had  ever  been  too 
much  indulged  to  care  for  consistency.  At 
the  close  of  a  week,  she  therefore  declared  that 
she  wished  to  go  back  to  Miss  Gray,  and  did 
not  know  why  her  father  had  taken  her  away. 

«« I — I — my   dear  !  "   said   Eichard   Jones, 


RACHEL    GRAY.  157 

confounded  at  the  accusation,  "  you  said  getting 
up  early  made  your  side  aclie/' 

"  So  it  did  ;  but  I  could  have  got  up  late, 
and  gone  all  the  same,  only  you  wouldn't  let 
me  ;  you  kept  me  here  to  mind  the  shop.  I 
hate  the  shop,  Tea-pot  and  all  ! "  added  Mary, 
bursting  into  tears. 

Jones  hung  down  his  head — then  shook  it. 

"  Oh  !  my  little  Mary— my  little  Mary  ! '' 
he  exclaimed,  ruefully  ;  and  he  felt  as  if  he 
could  have  cried  himself,  to  see  the  strange 
perversity  of  this  spoiled  child,  "  who  turned 
upon  him,"  as  he  internally  phrased  it,  and 
actually  upbraided  him  with  his  over-indul- 
gence. 

A  wiser  father  would  never  have  thus  in- 
dulged a  pettish  daughter,  and  never  have 
humbled  himself  as,  to  please  his  little  Mary, 
Richard  Jones  now  did.  That  same  day,  he 
went  round  to  Rachel  Gray's  ;  he  had  hoped 
that  she  might  be  alone  in  the  little  parlour  ; 
but  no,  there  sat,  as  if  to  increase  his  mortifi- 
cation,  Mrs.   Grray,  stiff  and  stern,  and  Jane 


158  EACHEL    GRAY. 

smiling  grimly.  Eachel  alone  was  the  same  as 
usual.  Jones  scratched  his  head^  coughed,  and 
looked  foolish ;  but  at  length  he  came  out 
with  it  : 

"  Would  Miss  Gray  take  hack  his  daughter, 
whose  health  a  week's  rest  had  much  improved 
— much  improved,"  he  added,  looking  at  Kachel 
doubtfully. 

Mrs.  Gray  drew  herself  up  to  i:J^ter  a  stern 
"  No,"  but  for  once  the  mild  Eachel  checked 
and  contradicted  her  mother,  and  said  : 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Jones,  with  great  pleasure. 
You  may  send  her  to-day,  if  you  like.  She 
has  missed  us,  and  we  have  missed  her." 

"  Thank  you.  Miss  Gray — thank  you," 
said  Jones,  hurriedly  rising  to  leave. 

"  Give  Mary  my  kind  love,"  whispered 
Kachel,  as  she  let  him  out. 

But  Jones  had  not  heard  her.  Very 
slowly,  and  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  he 
walked  down  the  street.  He  had  not  grown 
tired  of  Mary's  company ;  why  had  Mary 
grown  tired  of  his  .^      "  It's   natural,  I    sup- 


RACHEL    GRAY.  159 

pose/'  he  thought,  "  it's  natural ;  "  and  Tvhen 
he  entered  the  shop,  where  Mary  sat  suOdng 
behind  the  counter,  and  he  told  her  that  she 
might  go  back  to  Miss  Gray's,  and  when  he 
saw  her  face  light  up  with  pleasure,  he  forgot 
that,  though  natural,  it  was  not  pleasant. 

"  You  may  go  to-day,"  he  added,  smiling. 

At  once,  Mary  flew  upstairs  to  her  room. 
In  less  than  five  minutes,  she  was  down  again, 
and  merely  nodding  to  her  father  as  she  passed 
through  the  shop,  ofi"  she  went,  with  the  light, 
happy  step  of  youth. 

"  It's^natural,"  he  thought  again,  "  it's  very 
natural,"  but  he  sighed. 

Mrs.  Grray  took  in  high  dudgeon  the  con- 
sent her  daughter  had  given  to  the  return  of 
Mary  Jones.  She  scarcely  looked  at  that  young 
lady  the  whole  day,  and  when  she  was  gone, 
and  Jane  had  retired  to  her  little  room,  and 
mother  and  daughter  sat  together,  Eachel  got 
a  lecture. 

'^You  have  no  spirit,"  indignantly  said 
Mrs.   Gray.     "  What  !    after  the  little   hussy 


160  BACHEL  GEAY. 

behaving  so  shamefully,  you  take  her  back  for 
the  askins; ! " 

"  She  is  but  a  child,"  gently  observed 
Kachel. 

"  But  her  father  ain't  a  child,  is  he  ?  " 

Kache]  smiled. 

"  Indeed,  mother,  he  is  not  much  better," 
she  replied. 

"I  tell  you,  that  you  ain't  got  a  bit  of 
spirit,"  angrily  resumed  Mrs.  Gray.  "  The 
little  imperent  hussy  !  to  think  of  playing  her 
tricks  here  !  And  do  you  think  I'm  agoing  to 
stand  that  ?  "  added  Mrs.  Gray,  warming  with 
her  subject ;  "  no,  that  I  ain't  !  See  if  I  don't 
turn  her  out  of  doors  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Oh  !  mother,  mother,  do  not  !  "  cried 
Eachel,  alarmed  at  the  threat  ;  ^'  think  that 
she  is  but  a  child,  after  all.  And,  oh,  mother  ! " 
she  added  with  a  sigh,  "  have  you  never  noticed 
how  like  she  is  to  what  our  own  little  Jane 
once  was  ?  "' 

Mrs.  Gray  remained  mute.  She  looked 
back  in  the   past  for  the  image  of  her   lost 


RACHEL   GRAY.  161 

child.  She  saw  a  pale  face,  with  blue  eyes 
and  fair  hair,  like  Mary's.  Never  before  had 
the  resemblance  struck  her  ;  when  it  came,  it 
acted  with  overpowering  force  on  a  nature 
which,  though  rugged,  and  stern,  and  em- 
bittered by  age  and  sorrows,  was  neither  cold 
nor  forgetful. 

One  solitary  love,  but  ardent  and  impas- 
sioned, had  Sarah  Gray  known,  in  her  life  of 
three-score  and  ten — the  love  of  a  harsh,  but 
devoted  mother  for  an  only  child.  For  that 
child's  sake  had  its  father,  whom  she  had  mar- 
ried more  for  prudential  reasons  than  for 
motives  of  affection,  become  dear  to  her  heart. 
He  was  the  father  of  her  Jane.  For  that 
child's  sake,  had  she,  without  repining,  borne 
the  burden  of  Kachel.  Rachel  was  the  sister 
of  her  Jane.  Never  should  Eachel  want, 
whilst  she  had  heart  and  hands  to  work,  and 
earn  her  a  bit  of  bread. 

But  when  this  much-loved  child,  after 
ripening  to  early  youth,  withered  and  dropped 
from  the  tree  of  Ufe  ;  when  she  was  laid  to 


162  RACHEL   GRAY. 

sleep  in  a  premature  grave,  all  trace  of  the 
holy  and  beautiful  tenderness  whicli  gives  its 
grace  to  womanhood,  seemed  to  pass  away  from 
the  bereaved  mother's  heart.  She  became  more 
harsh,  more  morose  than  she  had  ever  been,  and 
had  it  been  worth  the  world's  while  to  note  or 
record  it,  of  her  too  it  might  have  been  said, 
as  it  was  of  England's  childless  King,  "  that 
from  one  sad  day  she  smiled  no  more."  And 
now,  when  she  heard  Kachel,  when  in  her  mind 
she  compared  the  living  with  the  dead,  strength, 
pride,  fortitude  forsook  her,  her  stern  features 
worked,  her  aged  bosom  heaved,  passionate 
tears  flowed  down  her  wrinkled  cheek. 

"  Oh  !  my  darhng — my  lost  darling  !  "  she 
cried,  in  broken  accents,  "  would  I  could  have 
died  for  thee  !  would  thou  wert  here  to-day  ! 
would  my  old  bones  fiUed  thy  young  grave  !  " 

And  she  threw  her  apron  over  her  face,  and 
moaned  with  bitterness  and  anguish. 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,  do  not,  pray  do 
not  !  "  cried  Kachel,  distressed  and  alarmed  at 
so  unusual  a  burst  of  emotion.     After  a  while, 


EACHEL   GRAY.  163 

Mrs.  Gray  unveiled  lier  face.  It  was  jDale  and 
agitated  ;  but  her  tears  had  ceased.  For  years 
they  had  not  flowed,  and  until  her  dying  day, 
they  flowed  no  more. 

"Kachel/'  she  said,  looking  in  her  step- 
daughter's face,  "I  forgive  you.  You  have 
nearly  broken  my  heart.  Let  Mary  come, 
stay,  and  go ;  but  talk  to  me  no  more  of  the 
dead.  Kachel,  when  my  darling  died,"  here 
her  pale  lips  quivered,  "  know  that  I  rebelled 
against  the  Lord — know  that  I  did  not  give 
her  up  wilHngly,  but  only  after  such  agony  of 
mind  and  heart  as  a  mother  goes  through  when 
she  sees  the  child  she  has  borne,  reared,  cher- 
ished, fondled,  lying  a  pale,  cold  bit  of  earth 
before  her  !  And,  therefore,  I  say,  talk  no 
more  to  me  about  the  dead,  lest  my  rebellious 
heart  should  rise  again,  and  cry  out  to  its 
Maker  :  '  Oh  God  !  oh  God  !  why  didst  thou 
take  her  from  me  I'" 

Mrs.  Gray  rose  to  leave  the  room.  On  the 
threshold,  she  turned  back  to  say  in  a  low,  sad 
voice : 

"  The  child  may  come  to-morrow,  Hachel.'' 


CHAPTER    XI. 

Mrs.  Gray  had  never  cared  about  Mary 
Jones  ;  she  had  always  thought  her  what  she 
was  indeed — a  sickly  and  peevish  child.  But 
now  her  heart  yearned  towards  the  young  girl, 
she  herself  would  have  been  loth  to  confess 
why.  Mary  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  Jane 
wondered;  Eachel  well  knew  what  had  wrought 
such  a  change ;  but  she  said  nothing,  and 
watched  silently. 

In  softened  tones,  Mrs  Gray  now  addressed 
the  young  girl.  If  Eachel  ventured  to  chide 
Mary,  though  ever  so  slightly,  her  step-mother 
sharply  checked  her.  "  Let  the  child  alone/' 
were  her  mildest  words.  As  to  Jane  or  Mrs. 
Brown,  they  both  soon  learned  that  Mary  Jones 
was  not  to  be  looked  at  with  impunity.     Mrs. 


RACHEL    GRAY.  165 

Gray  wondered  at  them,  she  did,  for  teazing 
the  poor  little  thing.  In  short,  Mary  was 
exalted  to  the  post  of  favourite  to  the  ruling 
powers,  and  she  filled  it  with  dignity  and  con- 
sequence. 

But  the  watchful  eye  of  Eachel  Gray  noted 
other  signs.  She  saw  with  silent  uneasiness, 
the  fading  eye,  the  faltering  step,  the  weakness 
daily  increasing  of  her  step-mother  ;  and  she 
felt  with  secret  sorrow  that  she  was  soon  to 
lose  this  harsh,  yet  not  unloving  or  unloved 
companion  of  her  quiet  Hfe. 

Mrs.  Gray  complained  one  day  of  feeling 
weak  and  ailing.  '  She  felt  worse  the  next  day, 
and  still  worse  on  the  third.  And  thus,  day  by 
day,  she  slowly  dechned  without  hope  of  re- 
coveiy.  Mrs.  Gray  had  a  strong,  though  narrow 
mind,  and  a  courageous  heart.  She  heard  the 
doctor's  sentence  calmly  and  firmly  ;  and  virtues 
which  she  had  neglected  in  life,  graced  and 
adorned  her  last  hours  and  her  dying  bed. 
Meek  and  patient  she  bore  suffering  and  disease 
without   repining   or   complaint,   and   granted 


166  RACHEL    GRAY. 

herself   but  one  indulgence :    the    sight  and 
presence  of  Maiy. 

The  young  girl  was  kinder  and  more  atten- 
tive to  her  old  friend  than  might  have  been 
expected  from  her  pettish,  indulged  nature. 
She  took  a  sort  of  pride  in  keeping  Mrs.  Gray 
company,  in  seeing  to  Mrs.  Gray,  as  she  called 
it.  Her  httle  vanity  was  gratified  in  having 
the  once  redoubtable  Mrs.  Gray  now  wholly  in 
her  hands,  and  in  some  sort  a  helpless  depend- 
ent on  her  good-will  and  kindness.  It  may  be, 
too,  that  she  found  a  not  unworthy  satisfaction 
in  feeHng  and  proving  to  the  little  world  around 
her,  that  she  also  was  a  person  of  weight  and 
consequence. 

But  her  childish  kindness  availed  not.  The 
time  of  Mrs.  Gray  had  come  ;  she  too  was  to 
depart  from  a  world  where  toil  and  few  joys, 
and  some  heavy  sorrows  had  been  her  portion. 
Mary  and  Kachel  were  alone  with  her  in  that 
hour. 

Mary  was  busy  about  the  room.  Kachel  sat 
by  her  mother's  bed.     Pale  and  languid,  Mrs. 


RACHEL    GRAY.  167 

Gray  turned  to  lier  step-daughter,  and  gather- 
ing lier  remaining  strength  to  speak,  she  said 
feebly  :  "  My  poor  Kachel,  I  am  afraid  I  have 
often  teazed  and  tormented  you.  It  was  all 
temper  ;  but  I  never  meant  it  unkindly — never, 
indeed.  And  then,  you  see,  Kachel,"  she  added, 
true  to  her  old  spirit  of  jDatronizing  and  mis- 
understanding her  step-daughter,  "  your  not 
being  exactly  like  others  provoked  me  at  times  ; 
but  I  know  it  shouldn't — it  wasn't  fair  to  you, 
poor  girl !  for  of  course  you  couldn't  help  it." 

And  Rachel,  true  to  her  spirit  of  humble 
submission,  only  smiled  and  kissed  her  mother's 
wasted  cheek,  and  said,  meekly :  "Do  not 
think  of  it,  dear  mother — do  not ;  you  were  not 
to  blame." 

And  she  did  not  murmur,  even  in  her  heart. 
She  did  not  find  it  hard  that  to  the  end  she 
should  be  slighted,  and  held  as  one  of  little 
worth. 

A  little  while  after  this,  Mrs.  Gray  spoke 
again.     "  Where  is  Mary  ?  "  she  said. 


168  RACHEL    GRAY. 

"And  here  I  am,  Mrs.  Gray,"  said  Mary, 
coming  up  to  her  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed. 

Mrs.  Gray  smiled,  and  stretched  ont  her 
trembling  hands,  until  they  met  and  clasped 
those  of  the  young  girl.  Then,  with  her  fading 
eyes  fixed  on  Mary's  face,  she  said  to  Kachel : 

"  Eachel,  tell  your  father  that  I  forgive  him, 
will  you  ? '' 

"Yes,  mother,"  replied  Kachel,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"Rachel,"  she  said  again,  and  her  weak 
voice  rose,  "Rachel,  you  have  been  a  good  and 
a  faithful  daughter  to  me — may  the  Lord  bless 
you!" 

Tears  streamed  down  Rachel's  face  on 
hearing  those  few  words  that  paid  her  for  many 
a  bitter  hour  ;  but  her  mother  saw  them  not, 
still  her  look  sought  Mary. 

"In  Thy  hands,  0  Lord,  I  commend  my 
spirit,"  she  murmured,  and  with  her  look  still 
fastened  on  little  Mary's  pale  face,  she  died. 

Sad  and  empty  seemed  the  house  to  Rachel 
Gray  when  her  mother  was  gone.     She  missed 


RACHEL   GRAY.  169 

her  cliidmg  voice,  her  step,  heavy  with  age,  her 
very  scolding,  which  long  habit  had  made  light 
to  bear. 

The  solitude  and  Hberty  once  so  dear  and 
so  hardly  won,  now  became  painful  and  oppres- 
sive ;  but  Eachel  was  not  long  troubled  with 
either. 

We  are  told  that  "he  whom  He  loveth 
He  chasteneth  ; "  and  Kachel  was  not  unloved, 
for  she,  too,  was  to  have  her  share  of  affliction. 
Spite  her  sickly  aspect,  she  enjoyed  good  health, 
and,  therefore,  when  she  rose  one  morning, 
shortly  after  her  mother's  death,  and  felt  un- 
usually languid  and  unwell,  Kachel  was  more 
surprised  than  alarmed. 

"  La,  Miss  !  how  poorly  you  do  look  ! ' 
exclaimed  Jane,  laying  down  her  work  with 
concern. 

^'  I  do  not  feel  very  well,*'  replied  Eachel, 
calmly,  "  but  I  do  not  feel  very  ill,  either,"  she 
added,  smihng. 

Her  looks  belied  her  words ;  vainly  she 
endeavoured  to  work  ;  by  the  united  entreaties 
8 


170  RACHEL   GRAY. 

of  Jane  and  Mary,  slie  was  at  length  persuaded 
to  go  up  to  her  room.  She  lay  down  on  her 
bed,  and  tried  to  sleep,  but  could  not ;  she 
thought  of  her  step-mother,  so  harsh,  yet  so 
kind  in  her  very  harshness  ;  of  her  father,  so 
cold  and  unloving ;  of  her  silent,  lonely  life,  and 
its  narrow  cares  and  narrow  duties,  above  which 
smiled  so  heavenly  a  hope,  burning  like  a  clear 
star  above  a  dark  and  rugged  valley  ;  and  with 
these  thoughts  and  feehngs,  heightening  them 
to  intensity,  blended  the  heat  and  languor  of 
growing  fever. 

When  Mary  came  up  to  know  if  Kachel 
Gray  wanted  anything,  she  found  her  so  ill  that 
she  could  scarcely  answer  her  question.  She 
grew  rapidly  worse.  The  medical  man  who  was 
called  in,  pronounced  her  disease  a  slow  fever, 
not  dangerous,  but  wasting. 

'^  Then  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  patience," 
resignedly  said  Kachel,  "  I  fear  I  shall  be  the 
cause  of  trouble  to  those  around  me,  but  the 
will  of  God  be  done." 


RACHEL    GRAY.  l7l 

"  La,  Miss  !  well  take  care  of  you/'  zea- 
lously said  Jane,  "  shan't  we,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Of  course  we  will/'  as  zealously  replied 
the  young  girl. 

Kachel  smiled  at  their  earnestness ;  but 
their  zeal  was  destined  to  be  thrown  in  the 
shade  by  that  of  a  third  individual.  On  the 
fourth  day  of  her  illness,  Eachel  was  awakened 
from  a  heavy  sleep  into  which  she  had  fallen,  by 
the  sound  of  angry  though  subdued  voices  on 
the  staircase. 

"I  tell  you  'taint  a  bit  of  use,  and  that 
you're  not  going  to  go  up,"  said  the  deep, 
emphatic  tones  of  Jane. 

"  Et  je  vous  dis  que  je  veux  monter,  moi !  " 
obstinately  exclaimed  the  shrill  French  voice 
of  Madame  Kose. 

Jane,  who  was  not  patient,  now  apparently 
resorted  to  that  last  argument  of  kings  and 
nations,  physical  force,  to  remove  the  intruder, 
for  there  was  the  sound  of  a  scufEe  on  the 
staircase,  but  if  she  had  strength  on  her  side, 
Madame  Kose  had  agility,  and  though  somewhat 


172  KACHEL   GEAY. 

ruffled  and  out  of  breath,  she  victoriously  burst 
into  Kachel's  room. 

"  Take  care,  Miss,  take  care,"  screamed 
Jane,  rushing  up  after  her,  "  the  French  mad- 
woman has  got  in,  and  I  couldn't  keep  her 
out." 

^'  Don't  be  afraid,  Jane,  "  said  Eachel,  as 
the  alarmed  apprentice  made  her  apparance  at 
the  door,  "I  am  very  glad  to  see  Madame 
Rose.  I  tell  you  she  will  not  hurt  me,  and 
that  I  am  glad  to  see  her,"  she  added,  as  Jane 
stared  grimly  at  the  intruder. 

She  spoke  so  positively,  that  the  apprentice 
retired,  but  not  without  emphatically  intimating 
that  she  should  be  within  call  if  Miss  Gray 
wanted  her. 

Eachel  was  too  ill  to  speak  much ;  but 
Madame  Rose  spared  her  the  trouble  by  taking 
that  task  on  herself;  indeed,  she  seemed  willing 
to  take  a  great  deal  on  herself,  and  listless  as 
Eachel  was,  she  perceived  with  surprise  that 
Madame  Rose  was  in  some  measure  taking  pos- 
session of  her  sick  room.     She  inquired  after 


RACHEL   GRAY.  173 

Mimi.  Madame  Kose  shook  her  head,  produced 
a  square  pocket  handkerchief,  applied  it  to  her 
eyes,  then  turned  them  up,  till  the  whites  alone 
were  visible  ;  in  short,  she  plainly  intimated 
that  Mimi  had  gone  to  her  last  home  ;  after 
wliich  she  promptly  dried  her  tears,  and,  partly 
by  speech,  partly  by  pantomime,  she  informed 
Eachel  that  the  apprentices  were  too  busy 
sewing  to  be  able  to  attend  on  her,  and  that 
she — Madame  Kose — would  undertake  that 
care.  Eachel  was  too  ill  and  languid  to  resist ; 
and  Jane  and  Mary,  though  they  resented  the 
intrusion  of  the  foreigner,  were  unable  to  eject 
her,  for,  by  possession,  which  is  acknowledged 
to  be  nine-tenths  of  the  law,  Madame  Eose 
made  her  claim  good,  until  the  enemy  had 
abandoned  all  idea  of  resistance. 

And  a  devoted  nurse  she  made,  ever  atten- 
tive, ever  vigilant.  For  three  months  did 
Eachel  see,  in  her  darkened  room,  the  active 
little  figure  of  the  Frenchwoman,  either  moving 
briskly  about,  or  sitting  erect  in  her  chair,  knit- 
ting assiduously,  occasionally  relieved,  it  is  true, 


174  EACHEL   GKAY. 

by  Jane  and  Maiy.  She  saw  it  wlien  slie  lay 
in  the  trance  of  fever  and  pain,  unable  to  move 
or  speak  ;  in  her  few  moments  of  languid  relief, 
it  was  still  there  ;  and  it  became  so  linked,  in 
her  mind,  with  her  sick  room,  that,  when  she 
awoke  one  day  free  from  fever,  the  delightful 
sensation  that  pain  was  gone  from  her,  like  the 
weary  dream  of  a  troubled  night  fled  in  the 
morning,  blended  with  a  sense  of  surprise  and 
annoyance  at  missing  the  nod  and  the  smile  of 
Madame  Rose. 

Rachel  looked  around  her  wondering,  and 
in  looking,  she  caught  sight  of  the  j)ortly  and 
vulgar  figure  of  Mrs.  Brown  ;  she  saw  her  with 
some  surprise,  for  she  knew  that  that  lady  en- 
tertained a  strong  horror  of  a  sick  room. 

"  It's  only  me  !  "  said  Mrs.  Brown  nodding 
at  her.     "  You're  all  right  now,  my  girl." 

"  I  feel  much  better,  indeed,"  replied  Rachel. 

"  Of  course  you  do  ;  the  fever  is  all  gone, 
otherwise  you  should  not  see  me  here,  I  promise 
you,"  added  Mrs.  Brown,  with  another  nod,  and 
a  knowing  wink. 


RACHEL   GRAY.  175 

"And  Madame  Kose/'  said  Eacliel,  "where 
is  Madame  Kose  ?  " 

"  Law  !  don't  trouble  your  mind  about  her. 
Keep  quiet,  will  you  ?  '' 

Mrs.  Brown  spoke  impatiently.  "Rachel  felt 
too  weak  to  dispute  her  authority,  but  when 
Jane  came  up,  she  again  inquired  after  Madame 
Kose.  Jane  drily  said  it  was  all  right,  and  that 
Miss  Grray  was  to  keep  quiet ;  and  more  than 
this  she  would  not  say. 

The  fever  had  left  Kachel.  She  was  now 
cured,  and  rapidly  got  better  ;  but  still,  she  did 
not  see  Madame  Eose,  and  was  favoured  with 
more  of  Mrs.  Brown's  company  than  she  liked. 
At  length  she  one  day  positively  exacted  an  ex- 
planation from  Jane,  who  reluctantly  gave  it. 

"Law  bless  you.  Miss  \"  she  said,  "'taint 
worth  talking  about.  Mrs.  Brown  can't  abide 
the  little  Frenchwoman  ;  and  so,  one  day  when 
she  went  out,  she  locked  the  door,  and  wouldn't 
let  Mary  open  it ;  and  when  Madame  Kose 
rang  and  rapped,  Mrs.   Brown  put  her  head  out 


176  BACHEL   GKAT. 

of  the  window,  and  railed  at  her,  until  she 
fahly  scared  her  away  from  the  place/' 

"  But  what  brought  Mrs.  Brown  here  ? " 
asked  Eachel,  who  had  heard  her  with  much 
surprise. 

Jane  looked  embarrassed,  but  was  spared 
the  trouble  of  replying  by  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Brown,  who  imperatively  summoned  her  down 
stairs.  She  immediately  complied,  and  left 
Kachel  alone.  A  mild  sun  shone  in  through 
the  open  window  on  the  sick  girl ;  she  had  that 
day  got  up,  for  the  first  time,  and  sat  on  a  chair 
with  a  book  on  her  knees.  But  she  could  not 
read  :  she  felt  too  happy,  blest  in  that  delight- 
fill  sense  of  returning  health  which  long  sickness 
renders  so  sweet.  Her  whole  soul  overflowed 
with  joy,  thankfulness,  and  prayer,  and  for  once 
the  shadow  of  sad  or  subduing  thoughts  fell  not 
on  her  joy. 

"  Well,  my  girl,  and  how  are  you  to-day  .?  " 
said  the  rough  voice  of  Mrs.  Brown,  who 
entered  without  the  ceremony  of  knocking. 


RACHEL    GRAY.  177 

Racliel  quietly  replied  that  she  felt  well — 
almost  quite  well. 

"  Of  course  you  do.  I  knew  I'd  bring  you 
round,"  said  Mrs.  Brown.  "  La  bless  you  !  all 
their  coddling  was  just  killing  you.  So  I  told 
Jane,  all  along,  but  she  wouldn't  believe  me. 
'  La  bless  you,  girl ! '  I  said  to  her,  ^  I  do  it 
willingly,  but  it's  only  just  a  wasting  of  my 
money,'  says  I." 

"  Your  money,  Mrs.  Brown  ?  "  interrupted 
Rachel,  with  a  start. 

"  Why,  of  course,  my  money.  Whose 
else  ?     Didn't  you  know  of  it  ?  " 

"Indeed,  I  did  not,"  replied  Rachel,  con- 
founded. 

"  La  !  what  a  muff  the  girl  is  ! "  good- 
humouredly  observed  Mrs.  Brown.  "  And  where 
did  you  think,  stupid,  that  the  money  you  have 
been  nursed  with  these  three  months  came 
from  ?  Why,  from  my  pocket,  of  course ; 
twenty  pound  three-and-six,  besides  a  quarter's 
rent,  and  another  running  on." 

Rachel  was  dismayed  at  the  amount  of  the 
8* 


178  KACHEL    GRAT. 

debt.  When  and  how  should  she  be  able  to 
pay  so  large  a  sum  ?  Still,  rallying  from  her 
first  feeling  of  surprise  and  dismay,  she  at- 
tempted to  express  to  Mrs.  Brown  her  gratitude 
for  the  assistance  so  generously  yielded,  and  her 
hope  of  being  able  to  repay  it  some  day  ;  but 
Mrs.  Brown  would  not  hear  her. 

"  Nonsense,  Kachel,"  she  said,  ^  I  ain't  a- 
done  more  than  I  ought  to  have  done  for  my 
cousin's  step-daughter.  And  to  whom  should 
Jane,  when  she  wanted  money,  have  come,  but 
to  me  ?  And  as  to  paying  me,  bless  you  ! 
there's  no  hurry,  Kachel.  I  can  afford,  thank 
Heaven,  to  lend  twenty  pound,  and  not  miss 
it." 

This  was  kindness — such  Kachel  felt  it  to 
be  ;  but,  alas  !  she  also  felt  that  there  was  on 
her,  from  that  day,  the  badge  of  obligation  and 
servitude.  She  was  still  too  weak  to  work ; 
she  had,  during  her  long  illness,  lost  the  best 
part  of  her  customers  ;  until  her  full  recovery, 
she  was,  perforce,  cast  on  Mrs.  Brown  for  assist- 
ance, and,  of  all  persons,  Mrs.  Brown  was  the 


RACHEL   GRAY.  179 

last  not  to  take  advantage  of  such  a  state  of 
things.  Mrs.  Brown  came  when  she  hked,  said 
what  she  liked,  and  did  what  she  liked  in 
KacheFs  house.  But,  indeed,  it  was  not  Ka- 
cheFs  house — it  was  Mrs.  Brown's.  Kachel  was 
there  on  sufferance  ;  the  very  bed  on  w^hich  she 
slept  was  Mrs.  Brown's  ;  the  very  chair  on 
which  she  sat  was  Mrs.  Brown's.  So  Mrs. 
Brown  felt,  and  made  every  one  feel,  Kachel 
included. 

The  effects  of  her  rule  were  soon  apparent. 
Every  article  of  furniture  changed  its  place  ; 
every  household  nook  was  carefully  examined 
and  improved,  and  every  luckless  individual 
who  entertained  a  lingering  kindness  for  Eachel 
Gray,  was  affronted,  and  effectually  banished 
from  the  house,  from  irascible  Madame  Kose 
down  to  peaceful  Mr.  Jones. 

Kachel  carried  patience  to  a  fault ;  through 
her  whole  life,  she  had  been  taught  to  suffer 
and  endure  silently,  and  now,  burdened  with 
the  sense  of  her  debt  and  obKgation,  she  knew 
not  how  to  resist  the  domestic  tyranny  of  this 


180  BACHEL   GRAY. 

new  tormentor.  The  easiest  course  was  to 
submit.  To  Kachel  it  seemed  tliat  such,  in 
common  gratitude,  was  her  duty  ;  and,  ac- 
cordingly, she  submitted.  But  this  was  a 
time  of  probation  and  trial ;  as  such  she  ever 
looked  back  to  it,  in  after  life.  To  Jane,  her 
patience  seemed  amazing,  and  scarcely  com- 
mendable. 

"  I  wonder  you  can  bear  with  the  old 
creetur,  that  I  do,"  she  said,  emphatically. 

"  Mrs.  Brown  means  kindly,"  said  Kachel, 
"  and  she  has  been  a  kind  friend  to  me,  when  I 
had  no  other  friend.  I  may  well  have  a  little 
patience." 

"  A  little  patience  ! "  echoed  Jane,  indig- 
nantly, "  a  little  patience !  when  she's  always 
at  you." 

But  Kachel  would  hear  no  more  on  the  sub- 
ject. If  she  bore  with  Mrs.  Brown,  it  was  not 
to  murmur  at  her  behind  her  back.  Yet  she 
was  not  so  insensible  to  what  she  endured,  but 
that  she  felt  it  a  positive  relief  when  Mrs. 
Brown  went  and  paid  one  of  her  nieces  a  visit 


RACHEL    GRAY.  181 

in  the  countrjj  and  for  a  few  weeks  delivered 
the  house  of  her  presence.  Internallyj  Kachel 
accused  herself  of  ingratitude  because  she  felt 
glad.  "  It's  very  wrong  of  me,  I  know/'  she 
remorsefully  thought,  "  but  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
not  help  it." 

Her  health  was  now  restored.  Sue  had 
found  some  work  to  do  ;  with  time  she  knew 
she  should  be  able  to  pay  Mrs.  Brown.  Her 
mind  recovered  its  habitual  tone  ;  old  thoughts, 
old  feelings,  laid  by  during  the  hour  of  trial  and 
sickness,  but  never  forsaken,  returned  to  her 
now,  and  time,  as  it  passed  on,  matured  a  great 
thought  in  her  heart. 

"  Who  knows,"  she  often  asked  herself,  in 
her  waking  dreams,  "  who  knows  if  the  hour  is 
not  come  at  last?  My  father  cannot  always 
turn  his  face  from  me.  Love  me  at  once  he 
cannot ;  but  why  should  he  not  with  time  ?  " 
Yet  it  was  not  at  once  that  Rachel  acted  on 
these  thoughts.  Never  since  he  had  received 
her  so  coldly,  had  she  crossed  her  father's 
threshold  ;  but  often,  in  the  evening,  she  had 


182  RACHEL   GRAY. 

walked  up  and  down  before  his  door,  looking  at 
Mm  through  the  shop  window  with  sad  and 
earnest  eyes,  never  seeking  for  more  than  that 
stolen  glance,  though  still  with  the  persistency 
of  a  fond  heart,  she  looked  forward  to  a  happier 
future. 

And  thus  she  lingered  imtil  one  morning, 
when  she  rose,  nerved  her  heart,  and  went  out ; 
calmly  resolved  to  bear  as  others,  to  act. 

She  went  to  her  father's  house.  She  found 
him  sturdy  and  stern,  planing  with  the  vigour 
of  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life.  His  brow  be- 
came clouded,  as  he  saw  and  recognized  his 
daughter's  pale  face  and  shrinking  figure. 
Still  he  bade  her  come  in,  for  she  stood  on  the 
threshold  timidly  waiting  for  a  welcome  ;  and 
his  ungraciousness  was  limited  to  the  cold 
question  of  what  had  brought  her. 

^'  I  am  come  to  see  you,  father,"  was  her 
mild  reply.  And  as  to  this  Thomas  Gray  said 
nothing,  Eachel  added  :  "  My  mother  is  dead.'' 

"  I  know  it,  and  have  known  it  these  three 
months,''  he  drily  answered. 


RACHEL    GRAY.  183 

^^  She  died  very  happy/'  resumed  Eachel, 
"  and  before  she  died,  she  desired  me  to  come 
and  tell  you  that  she  sincerely  forgave  you  all 
past  unkindness." 

A  frown  knit  the  rugged  brow  of  Thomas 
Gray.  His  late  wife  had  had  a  sharp  temper 
of  her  own  ;  and  perhaps  he  thought  himself  as 
much  sinned  against  as  sinning.  But  he  made 
no  comment. 

"  Father/'  said  Kachel,  speaking  from  her 
very  heart,  and  looking  earnestly  in  his  face, 
"  may  I  come  and  live  with  you  ?  " 

Thomas  Gray  looked  steadily  at  his  daugh- 
ter, and  did  not  reply.  But  Kachel,  resolved 
not  to  be  easily  disheartened,  persisted  none 
the  less.  '^  Father,''  she  resumed,  and  her 
voice  faltered  with  the  depth  of  her  emotion, 
"  pray  let  me.  I  know  you  do  not  care  much 
for  me.  I  dare  say  you  are  right,  that  I  am 
not  worth  much  ;  but  still  I  might  be  useful 
to  you.  A  burden  I  certainly  should  not  be  ; 
and  in  sickness,  in  age,  I  think,  I  hope,  father, 
you  would  like  to  have  your  daughter  near  you. 


184  RACHEL   GRAY. 

"  I  am  now  your  only  cMld,"  site  added, 
after  a  moment's  pause ;  "  tlie  only  living 
thing  of  your  blood,  not  one  relative  have  I  in 
this  wide  world  ;  and  you,  father,  you  too  are 
alone.  Let  me  come  to  live  with  you.  Pray 
let  me  !  If  my  presence  is  irksome  to  you," 
added  Kachel,  gazing  wistfully  in  his  face,  as 
both  hope  and  courage  began  to  fail  her, 
^'  I  shall  keep  out  of  the  way.  Indeed,  in- 
deed," she  added  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  I 
shaU." 

He  had  heard  her  out  very  quietly,  and 
very  quietly  he  replied  :  '^  Kachel,  what  did  I 
go  to  America  for  ?  " 

Kachel,  rather  bewildered  with  the  ques- 
tion, faltered  that  she  did  not  know. 

"  And  what  did  I  come  to  live  here  for  ?  " 
he  continued. 

Kachel  did  not  answer ;  but  there  was  a 
sad  foreboding  in  her  heart. 

"  To  be  alone,"  he  resumed  ;  and  he  spoke 
with  some  sternness,  ^'  to  be  alone."  And  he 
went  back  to  his  planing. 


RACHEL   GRAY.  185 

Witli  tears  whicli  lie  saw  not,  Kacliel 
looked  at  tlie  stem,  selfish  old  man,  whom  she 
called  her  father.  The  sentence  which  he  had 
uttered,  rung  in  her  heart  ;  but  she  did  not 
venture  to  dispute  its  justice.  Her  simple 
pleading  had  been  heard  and  rejected.  More 
than  she  had  said,  she  could  not  say  ;  and  it 
did  not  occur  to  her  to  urge  a  second  time  the 
homely  eloquence  which  had  so  signally  failed 
when  first  spoken.  But  she  made  bold  to  pre- 
fer a  timid  and  humble  petition.  "  Might  she 
come  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  What  for  ?  "  he  bluntly  asked. 

"  To  see  how  you  are,  father,"  replied  poor 
Eachel. 

"  How  I  am,"  he  echoed,  with  a  suspicious 
gathering  of  the  brow,  "  and  why  shouldn't  I 
be  well,  just  tell  me  that  ? '' 

"  It  might  please  Providence  to  afflict  you 
with  sickness,"  began  Eachel. 

"  Sickness,  sickness,"  he  interrupted,  in- 
dignantly, "  I  tell  you,  woman,   I  never  was 


186  RACHEL   GRAY. 

sick  in  my  life.  Is  there  the  sign  of  illness,  or 
of  disease  upon  me  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  father,  there  is  not." 

"  And  could  you  find  a  man  of  my  age  half 
so  healthy,  and  so  strong  as  I  am — just  tell  me 
that  ?  "  he  rather  defiantly  asked. 

Poor  Kachel  was  literal  as  truth.  Instead 
of  eluding  a  reply,  she  simply  said :  "I  have 
seen  stronger  men  than  you,  father." 

"  Oh  !  you  have — have  you  !  "  he  ejacu- 
lated, eyeing  her  with  very  little  favour. 

And  though  Kachel  was  not  unconscious 
of  her  offence,  she  added  :  "  And  strong  or 
weak,  father,  are  we  not  all  in  the  htinds  of 
God?" 

From  beneath  his  bushy  grey  eyebrows, 
Thomas  Gray  looked  askance  at  his  daughter  ; 
but  love  often  rises  to  a  fearlessness  that  makes 
it  heroic,  and  Kachel,  not  daunted,  resumed  : 
^'  Father,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "  you  dc  not 
want  me  now ;  I  know  and  see  it,  but  if  ever 
you  should — and  that  time  may  come,  pray, 
father,  pray  send  for  me." 


RACHEL    GRAY.  187 

"  Want  you  ?  and  what  should  I  want  you 
for  ?  "  asked  Thomas  Gray. 

^'  I  cannot  tell,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  you 
might  want  me.  Kemember,  that  if  you  do, 
you  have  but  to  send  for  me.  I  am  willing, 
ever  willing." 

He  looked  at  her  as  she  stood  there  before 
him,  a  pale,  sallow,  sickly  girl,  then  he  laughed 
disdainfully,  and  impatiently  motioned  her 
away,  as  if  his  temper  were  chafed  at  her  con- 
tinued presence.  Eachel  felt,  indeed,  that  her 
visit  had  been  sufficiently  long,  and  not  wishing 
to  close  on  herself  the  possibility  of  return — for 
she  had  one  of  those  quietly  pertinacious  na- 
tures that  never  give  up  hope — she  calmly  bade 
her  father  good-bye.  Without  looking  at  her, 
he  muttered  an  unintelligible  reply.  Eachel 
left  the  shop,  and  returned  to  her  quiet  street 
and  solitary  home. 

Yet  solitary  she  did  not  find  it.  True, 
Jane  was  out  on  some  errand  or  other,  but 
Mary  was  alone  in  the  parlour.     She  sat  with 


188  RACHEL   GRAY. 

her  work  on  her  lap,  crying  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

In  vain  she  tried  to  hide  or  check  her 
tears  ;  Kachel  saw  Mary's  grief,  and  forgetting 
at  once  her  own  troubles,  she  kindly  sat  down 
by  the  young  girl,  and  asked  what  ailed  her. 

At  first,  Mary  would  not  speak,  then  sud- 
denly she  threw  her  arms  around  Eachel's 
neck,  and  with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears,  she  ex- 
claimed :  "Oh  !  dear,  dear  Miss  Gray  !  I  am 
so  miserable." 

"What  for,  child?"  asked  Eachel  as- 
tonished. 

"  He's  gone — ^he's  gone  !  "  sobbed  Mary. 

"  Who  is  gone,  my  dear  ?  " 

Mary  hung  down  her  head.  But  Kachel 
pressed  her  so  kindly  to  speak,  that  her  heart 
opened,  and  with  many  a  hesitating  pause, 
and  many  a  qualifying  comment,  Mary  Jones 
related  to  her  kind-hearted  listener  a  little 
story,  which,  lest  the  reader  should  not  prove 
so  indulgent,  or  so  patient  as  Kachel  Gray, 
we  will  relate  in  language  plainer  and  more 
brief 


CHAPTER    XII. 

Time  had  worn  on :  nine  months  in  aU 
had*  passed  away  since  the  opening  of  the 
Teapot. 

We  must  be  quite  frank  :  Mr.  Jones  had 
not  always  made  the  one  pound  ten  a  week 
clear  profit  ;  and  of  course  this  affected  all  his 
calculations  :  the  ten  per  cent  for  increase  of 
gain  included.  There  had  been  weeks  when  he 
had  not  realized  more  than  one  pound,  others 
when  he  made  ten  shillings,  ay  and  there  had 
been  weeks  when  all  he  could  do — if  he  did  do 
so — was  to  make  both  ends  meet.  It  was  odd ; 
but  it  was  so.  Mr.  Jones  was  at  first  much 
startled  ;  but  he  soon  learned  to  reconcile  him- 
self to  it. 

"It  stands  to  reason,"  he  philosophically 


190  BACHEL   GRAY. 

observed  to  Mary,  "  it's  business,  you  see,  it's 
business."     The  words  explained  all. 

Another  drawback  was  that  the  front  room 
which  was  worth  five  shillings  a  week,  as  his 
landlord  had  proved  to  Mr.  Jones  in  their  very 
first  conversation,  and  for  which  Mr.  Jones 
had  therefore  allowed — on  the  faith  of  his 
landlord's  word — thirteen  pounds  a  year  in 
his  accounts — never  let  at  all.  This  was  the 
first  intimation  Mr.  Jones  received  of  the  prac- 
tical business  truth,  that  it  is  necessary  to  al- 
low for  losses. 

He  had  almost  given  up  all  thoughts  of  let- 
ting this  unfortunate  room,  and  indeed  the  bill 
had  had  time  to  turn  shabby  and  yellow  in  the 
shop  window,  when  one  morning  a  young  man 
entered  the  shop  and  in  a  cool  deliberate  tone 
said:    '^  Koom  to  let ? " 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  replied  Jones  rather  impressed 
by  his  brief  manner. 

"Back  or  front?" 

"  Front,  Sir,  front.     Capital  room,  Sir  ! " 

"  Terms  ?  " 


RACHEL    GRAY.  191 

"  Five  sMlings  a-week,  Sir.  A  room  worth 
six  shillings,  anywhere  else.  Like  to  see  it, 
Sir  ?  Mary — Mary,  dear,  just  mind  the  shop 
awhile,  will  you  ?  " 

Mary  came  grumbling  at  being  disturbed, 
whilst  her  father  hastened  upstairs  before  the 
stranger,  and  throwing  the  window  open, 
showed  him  a  very  dusty  room,  not  over  and 
above  well  furnished. 

''  Capital  room.  Sir ! "  said  Mr.  Jones, 
winking  shrewdly ;  "  real  Brussels  carpet ; 
portrait  of  Her  Majesty  above  the  mantel- 
piece ;  and  that  bed.  Sir — just  feel  that  bed, 
Sir,"  he  added,  giving  it  a  vigorous  poke^  by 
way  of  proving  its  softness  ;  "  very  cheerful 
look-out,  too  ;  the  railroad  just  hard  by — see 
all  the  trains  passing." 

Without  much  minding  these  advantages, 
the  stranger  cast  a  quick  look  round  the 
room,  then  said  in  his  curt  way  :  "  Take  four 
shilHngs  for  it  ?  Yes.  Well  then,  111  come 
to-night." 

And  without  giving  Mr.  Jones  time  to  re- 


192  RACHEL   GRAY. 

ply,  he  walked  downstairs,  and  walked  out 
through  the  shop. 

"  Well,  father,  have  you  let  the  room  ?  " 
asked  Mary,  when  her  father  came  down,  still 
bewildered  by  the  young  man's  strange  and 
abrupt  manner. 

"  Well,  child,"  he  replied,  "  I  suppose  I 
may  say  I  have,  for  the  young  man  is  coming 
to-night." 

^'What's  his  name?"  promptly  asked 
Mary. 

"  I'm  blest  if  I  know ;  he  never  told  me, 
nor  gave  me  time  to  ask." 

"  But,  father,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you 
let  the  room  to  him,  without  knowing  his 
name  ?  " 

'^  But  I  didn't  let  the  room  to  him,"  said 
Mr.  Jones  ;  "  it  was  he  took  it." 

"  Well,  that's  queer  !  "  said  Mary. 

"  Queer  !  I  call  it  more  than  queer  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  grocer,  now  turning  indignant  at 
the  treatment  he  had  received  ;  "  but  he  shan't 


RACHEL    GRAY.  193 

sleep  in  it,  though,  till  I've  got  his  references, 
I  can  tell  him." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth, 
when  into  the  shop  again  walked  the  stranger. 

"  My  name  is  Joseph  Saunders,"  he  said, 
briefly,  "  and  if  you  want  to  know  more, 
apply  to  Mr.  Smithson,  number  thirteen,  in 
the  alley  hard  by.  He'll  give  you  all  the  par- 
ticulars." 

Having  delivered  which  piece  of  informa- 
tion, he  once  more  vanished.  Well,  there  was 
nothing  to  say  to  this  ;  and  Mr.  Jones,  who 
had  an  inquisitive  temper,  was  j)reparing  to 
dart  off  to  Mr.  Smithson' s,  who  did  indeed  live 
hard  by,  when  Mr.  Joseph  Saunders  once  more 
appeared. 

^^  P'r'aps  you'd  like  the  first  week,"  he  said  ; 
and  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  laid  four 
shillings  down  on  the  counter,  and  again  dis- 
appeared— this  time  to  return  no  more.  Mary 
was  very  much  struck. 

"  He  looks  quite  superior,"  she  said,  '^  quite. 
9 


194  BACHEL   GBAY. 

Saunders  —  Joseph    Saunders !    what    a    nice 
name." 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  rephed  her  father, 
sweeping  the  four  shillings  into  the  till,  "  but  I 
must  have  a  word  or  two  to  say  with  Mr. 
Smithson — for  all  that  his  name  is  Joseph 
Saunders." 

He  took  his  hat,  and  walked  out  to  seek 
Mr.  Smithson,  an  old  and  stiff  dealer  in  earth- 
enware, who  lived  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the 
Teapot.  The  day  was  fine,  and  Mr.  Smithson 
was  airing  his  pans  and  dishes,  and  setting 
them  along  the  pavement,  like  traps  for  the 
feet  of  unwary  passengers. 

"  Good-morning  to  you,"  began  Jones,  in  a 
conciliating  tone. 

"  Good-morning  !  "  replied,  or  rather  grunt- 
ed Mr.  Smithson,  without  taking  the  trouble  to 
look  up. 

"  I  have  just  come  round  to  inquire  about  a 
young  man — ^his  name  is  Joseph  Saunders. 
Do  you  know  him  ?  " 


RACHEL   GRAY.  195 

"  S'pose  I  do  ?  "  answered  Mr.  Smithson, 
too  cautious  to  commit  himself. 

"  Well  then,  s'pose  you  do — you  can  tell 
me  something  about  him,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  What  for  ?  "  drily  asked  the  earthenware 
dealer. 

"  What  for  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Jones,  begin- 
ning to  lose  his  temper,  "  why,  because  he's 
taken  my  front  room,  and  I  want  to  know  what 
sort  of  a  chap  he  is,  and  because,  too,  he  has 
referred  me  to  you — that's  what  for." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Smithson,  "  I'U  just 
tell  you  this  :  first,  he'll  pay  his  rent  ;  second, 
he'll  give  no  trouble  ;  third,  that's  all." 

With  which  Mr.  Smithson,  who  had  for  a 
moment  looked  up,  and  paused  in  his  occupa- 
tion, returned  to  his  earthenware. 

"  And  what  does  he  do  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jones, 
not  satisfied  with  this  brief  account. 

"  If  you  was  to  stay  here  from  now  till  to- 
morrow morning,"  surlily  replied  Mr.  Smithson, 
"  you'd  know  no  more  from  me." 

Mr.  Jones  whistled,  and  walked  oJ0f,  with  his 


196  RACHEL    GRAY. 

hands  in  his  pockets.  He  had  been  guilty  of 
the  unpardonable  sin  of  not  purchasing  a  shil- 
ling's worth  of  Mr.  Smithson's  goods  since  he 
had  come  to  the  neighbourhood,  and  of  course 
Mr.  Smithson  felt  aggrieved. 

"  Well,  father/'  eagerly  exclaimed  Mary,  as 
soon  as  she  saw  her  father,  "  who  is  he  .^ 
What  is  he  ?  What  does  he  do  ?  Is  he 
married — " 

"  Bless  the  girl !  "  interrupted  Mr.  Jones, 
"  how  am  I  to  know  all  that  ?  He'll  pay  his 
rent,  and  he's  respectable,  and  more  don't  con- 
cern us  ;  and  it's  time  for  you  to  go  to  Miss 
Gray,  ain't  it.?" 

With  which  limited  information  Mary  had, 
perforce,  to  remain  satisfied. 

The  new  lodger  proved  to  be  what  Mr. 
Jones  graphically  termed  "a  very  buttoned- 
up  sort  of  chap  ; "  a  tall,  dark,  silent,  and 
reserved  man,  who  paid  his  rent  every  week, 
went  out  early  every  morning,  came  home  at 
ten  every  night,  and  vanished  every  Sunday. 

We  have  already  hinted  that  Mr.  Jones  had 


RACHEL    GRAY.  197 

a  spice  of  curiosity  ;  tMs  mystery  teazed  Mm, 
and  by  dint  of  waylaying  his  guest  both  eariy 
and  late,  he  succeeded  in  ascertaining  that  he 
had  recently  left  his  situation  in  a  large  house 
in  the  city,  and  that  he  was  in  search  of  an- 
other. No  more  did  Mr.  Joseph  Saunders 
choose  to  communicate  ;  but  this  was  enough. 

For  some  time,  the  poor  grocer  had  had  a 
strong  suspicion  that  he  was  not  a  very  good 
business  man  ;  that  he  wanted  something ; 
energy,  daring,  he  knew  not  what,  but  some- 
thing he  was  sure  it  was. 

"  Now,"  he  thought,  "  if  I  could  secure 
such  a  young  fellow  as  that  ;  it  would  be  a 
capital  thing  for  me,  and  in  time  not  a  bad  one 
for  him.  For  suppose,  that  he  becomes  a  Co., 
and  marries  Mary,  why  the  house  is  his,  that's 
all.  Now  I  should  like  to  know  what  man  in 
the  city  will  say  to  him  :  ^  Saunders,  I'll  make 
a  Co.  of  you,  and  you  shall  have  my  daugh- 
ter.' " 

Fully  impressed  with  the  importance  of 
the  proposal  he  had  to  make,  Mr.  Jones  accord- 


198  KACHEL   GRAY. 

ingly  walked  up  one  morning  to  his  lodger's 
room ;  and  after  a  gentle  knock,  obtained  ad- 
mittance. But  scarcely  liad  lie  entered  the 
room,  scarcely  cast  a  look  around  him,  when 
his  heart  failed  him.  Joseph  Saunders  was 
packing  up. 

"  Going,  Sir,"  faintly  said  Jones. 

"  Why  yes  !  "  replied  the  young  man,  "  1 
have  found  a  situation,  and  so  I  am  off  na- 
turally. My  week  is  up  to-morrow,  I  believe, 
but  not  having  given  notice,  I  shall  pay  for 
next,  of  course." 

He  thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket  as  he 
spoke.  Poor  Mr.  Jones  was  too  much  hurt 
with  his  disappointment  to  care  about  the  four 
shillings. 

"  Pray  don't  mention  it,"  he  said  hurriedly, 
"  your  time's  up  to-morrow,  and  so  there's  an 
end  of  it  all."  "Which  words  applied  to  the  end 
of  his  hopes,  more  than  anytliing  else. 

Mr.  Saunders  gave  him  a  look  of  slight 
surprise,  but  said  quietly  :  "  No,  no,  Mr.  Jones, 
what's  fair  is  fair.     I  gave  no  notice,  and  so 


RACHEL   GRAY.  199 

here  are  your  four  shillings."  He  laid  them  on 
the  table  as  he  spoke  ;  and  resumed  his  pack- 
ing. 

He  forgot  to  ask  what  had  brought  Mr. 
Jones  up  to  his  room,  and  Mr.  Jones  no  longer 
anxious  to  tell  him,  pocketed  his  four  shillings 
and  withdrew  hastily,  under  pretence  that  he 
was  wanted  in  the  shop. 

Mr.  Jones  had  not  acted  in  all  this  without 
consulting  his  daughter ;  she  had  tacitly  ap- 
proved his  plans,  and  when  he  had  imprudently 
allowed  her  to  see  how  he  thought  those  plans 
likely  to  end  by  a  matrimonial  alliance  between 
herself  and  young  Saunders,  a  faint  blush  had 
come  over  the  poor  little  thing's  sallow  face,  and 
stooping  to  shun  her  father's  kind  eye,  she  pre- 
tended to  pick  up  a  needle  that  had  not  fallen. 
And  now  she  was  waiting,  below,  for  it  was 
early  yet,  and  she  had  not  gone  to  Miss  Gray's 
— she  was  waiting  to  know  the  result  of  her 
father's  conference  with  Mr.  Saunders.  No 
wonder  that  he  came  down  somewhat  slowly, 
and  not  a  little  crest-fallen.     All  he  said  was  : 


200  RACHEL   GRAY. 

"  He's  got  a  new  situation/'  and  whistling  by 
way  of  showing  his  utter  unconcern,  he  entered 
the  shop,  where  a  dirty  child  with  its  chin 
resting  on  the  counter,  was  waiting  to  be 
served. 

Mary  too  had  had  her  dreams,  innocent 
dreams,  made  up  of  the  shadow  of  love,  and 
of  the  substance  of  girlish  vanity.  The  poor 
child  felt  this  blow,  the  first  her  little  life  had 
known,  and  childishly  began  to  cry.  Her  eyes 
were  red  when  she  went  to  work,  but  she  sat  in 
shadow,  and  Jane,  who  seldom  honoured  Miss 
Jones  with  her  notice,  saw  nothing.  Kachel 
Gray  was  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts 
to  heed  what  passed  around  her. 

It  was  only  on  her  return,  that  finding 
Mary  in  tears,  she  drew  from  her  the  little  tale 
of  her  hope  and  disappointment.  It  is  not  an 
easy  task  to  console,  even  the  lightest  sorrow, 
for  it  is  not  easy  to  feel  sympathy.  Yet  little 
as  her  grave  mind,  and  earnest  heart  could 
understand  the  troubles  of  Mary  Jones,  little 
as  she  could  feel  in  reality  for  the  childish  fancy 


RACHEL    GRAY.  201 

to  which  they  owed  their  birth,  Kachel  felt  for 
the  young  girl's  grief,  such  as  it  was,  and  by 
sympathy  and  mild  reasoning,  she  soothed  Mslyj, 
and  sent  her  home  partly  consoled. 

Of  course  Mr.  Saunders  was  gone — he  had 
left  too  without  any  adieu  or  message.  Mary's 
vanity  was  as  much  hurt  as  her  heart. 

Mr.  Jones  was  not  habitually  a  man  of 
keen  perceptions,  but  love  is  ever  quick.  It  cut 
him  to  the  heart  to  see  his  little  Mary  so  woe- 
begone. He  looked  at  her  wistfully,  tried  to 
check  a  sigh,  and  said  as  brightly  as  he  could, 

"  Cheer  up,  Mary ;  law  bless  you  girl,  we'll 
have  lots  of  lodgers  yet ;  and  as  to  that  Saun- 
ders, I  don't  so  much  care  about  it,  now  he's 
gone.  He  was  a  clever  fellow,  but  he  hadn't 
got  no  capital,  and  as  to  taking  a  Co.  without 
capital,  why  none  but  a  good-natured  easy 
feUow  like  me  would  dream  of  such  a  thing  now 
a  days ;  but,  as  I  said,  we'll  have  lots  of 
lodgers — lots  of  lodgers." 

"  We  never  had  but  that  one  all  them  nine 
months,"  said  Mary  with  some  asperity. 

9* 


202  RACHEL   GRAY. 

"  They're  all  a  coming/'  said  her  father  gaily, 
"  They're  all  a  coming/' 

And  he  said  it  in  such  droll  fasblon,  and 
winked  so  knowingly  that,  do  what  &iie  coiild, 
Mary  could  not  but  laugh. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Mary  was  gone  ;  Jane  had  come  in  but  to 
go  up  to  her  room.  Rachel  sat  alone  in  the 
little  parlour,  reading  by  candle-light. 

And  did  she  read,  indeed  !  Alas  no  !  Her 
will  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  page,  but  her  mind 
received  not  the  impression  it  conveyed.  The 
sentences  were  vague  and  broken  as  images  in 
a  dream  ;  the  words  had  no  meaning.  Out- 
wardly, calm  as  ever  did  Rachel  seem,  but  there 
was  a  strange  sorrow — a  strange  tumult  in  her 
heart. 

That  day  the  hope  of  years  had  been 
wrecked,  that  day  she  had  offered  herself,  and 
been  finally  rejected.  In  vain  she  said  to  her- 
self :  "I  must  submit — it  is  the  wiU  of  God,  I 
must  submit.'*     A  voice  within  her  ever  seemed 


204  RACHEL   GEAY. 

to  say  :  "  Father,  Father,  why  hast  thou  for- 
saken me  ! "  until,  at  length,  Kachel  felt  as  if 
she  could  bear  no  more. 

Sorrows  endured  in  silence  are  ever  doubly 
felt.  The  nature  of  Kachel  Gray  was  silent ; 
she  had  never  asked  for  sympathy  ;  she  had 
early  been  taught  to  expect  and  accept  in  its 
stead,  its  bitter  step-sister  Kidiculc.  Derided, 
laughed  at,  she  had  learned  to  dread  that  the 
look  of  a  human  being  should  catch  a  glimpse 
of  her  sorrows.  If  her  little  troubles  were  thus 
treated — how  would  her  heavier  griefs  fare  ? 

And  now  no  more  than  ever  did  Eachel 
trouble  any  with  her  burden.  Why  should 
she  ?  Who,  what  was  she  that  others  should 
care  whether  or  not  her  father  loved  her  !  That 
he  did  not  sufficiently,  condemned  her  to  soli- 
tude. The  pitying  eye  of  God  might,  indeed, 
look  down  upon  her  with  tenderness  and  love, 
but  from  her  brethren  Kachel  expected  noth- 
ing. 

And  thus  it  was  that,  on  this  night,  after 
consoling  the  idle  sorrows  of  an  indulged  child, 


RACHEL    GRAY.  205 

Kachel,  sitting  in  solitude,  found  the  weight  of 
her  own  grief  almost  intolerable.  Like  all  shy 
and  nervous  persons,  she  was  deeply  excitable. 
Anger  she  knew  not  ;  but  emotions  as  vehe- 
ment, though  more  pure,  could  trouble  her 
heart.  And  now  she  was  moved,  and  deeply 
moved,  by  a  sense  of  injustice  and  of  wrong. 
Her  father  wronged  her — perhaps  he  knew  it 
not ;  but  he  wronged  her.  "  God  Almighty 
had  not  given  him  a  child,  she  felt,  to  treat  it 
thus,  with  mingled  dislike  and  contempt.  Were 
there  none  to  receive  his  slights  and  his  scorn, 
but  his  own  daughter  ?  '' 

She  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
with  some  agitation.  Then  came  calmer  and 
gentler  thoughts,  moving  her  heart  until  her 
tears  flowed  freely.  Had  she  not  failed  that 
day — had  she  not  been  too  cold  in  her  entreaties, 
too  easily  daunted  by  the  first  rejection  ?  Had 
she  but  allowed  her  father  to  see  the  love,  deep 
and  fervent,  which  burned  in  his  daughter's 
heart — he  would  not,  he  could  not  so  coldly 
have  repelled  and  cast  her  from  him. 


206  RACHEL   GRAY. 

"  And  why  not  try  again  ?  "  murmured  an 
inner  voice  ;  "  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  is 
taken  by  storm — and  what  is  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven,  but  the  realm  of  love  ?  " 

At  first,  this  seemed  a  thought  so  wild,  that 
Eachel  drew  back  from  it  in  alarm,  as  from  an 
abyss  yawning  at  her  feet.  But  even  as  our 
looks  soon  become  famihar  with  images  of  the 
wildest  danger,  so  the  thought  returned  ;  and 
she  shrank  not  back  from  it.  Besides,  what 
had  she  to  lose  ?  Nothing  !  With  a  sort  of 
despair,  she  resolved  to  go  and  seek  Thomas 
Gray,  and  attempt  once  more  to  move  him. 
"  If  he  rejects  me  now,"  she  added,  inwardly, 
"  I  shall  submit  and  trouble  him  no  more.'' 

The  hour  was  not  late  ;  besides,  in  her 
present  mood,  the  timid  Rachel  felt  above  fear. 
She  was  soon  dressed — soon  on  her  road.  This 
time,  neither  annoyance  nor  evil  befell  her. 
She  passed  like  a  shadow  through  crowds,  and 
like  a  shadow  was  unheeded.  The  night  was 
dark  and  dreary  ;  a  keen  wind  whistled  along 
the   streets — ^but  for   either   cold   or   darkness 


RACHEL   GRAY.  207 

Rachel  cared  not.  Her  thoughts  flowed  full 
and  free  in  her  brain  ;  for  once,  she  felt  that  she 
could  speak  ;  and  a  joyful  presentiment  in  her 
heart  told  her  that  she  would,  and  should  be 
heard — and  not  in  vain. 

Absorbed  in  those  thoughts,  Rachel  scarcely 
knew  what  speed  she  had  made,  until,  with  the 
mechanical  impulse  of  habit,  she  found  herself 
stopping  before  the  second-hand  ironmonger's 
shop.  Wakening  as  from  a  dream,  and  smiling 
at  herself,  she  went  on.  Rachel  had  expected  to 
find  the  shop  of  Thomas  Gray  closed,  and  him- 
self absent ;  but  the  light  that  burned  from 
his  dwelling,  and  shed  its  glow  on  the  opposite 
houses,  made  her  heart  beat  with  joy  and  hope. 
Timidly,  she  looked  in  through  the  glass  panes  ; 
the  shop  was  vacant ;  her  father  was,  no  doubt, 
in  the  back  parlour.  Rachel  entered ;  the 
door-bell  rang.  She  paused  on  the  threshold, 
expecting  to  see  him  appear  from  within, 
nerving  herself  to  bear  his  cold  look,  and  severe 
aspect ;  but  he  came  not.     He  was  either  up- 


208  RACHEL   GRAY. 

stairs,  or  in  some  other  part  of  the  house,  or 
next  door  with  a  neighbour. 

There  was  a  chair  in  the  shop  ;  Eachel  took 
it,  sat  down,  and  waited — ^how  long,  she  herself 
never  knew  ;  for  seconds  seemed  hours,  and  all 
true  consciousness  of  time  had  left  her.  At 
length,  she  wondered  ;  then  she  feared — why- 
was  her  father's  house  so  silent  and  so  deserted  .? 
She  went  to  the  door,  and  looked  down  the 
street.  It  was  still  and  lonely  ;  every  house 
was  shut  up  ;  and -even  from  the  neighbouring 
thoroughfare,  all  sounds  of  motion  and  life 
seemed  gone. 

Suddenly  Eachel  remembered  the  little 
public-house  to  which  her  father  had  once  sent 
her.  She  had  often  seen  him  going  to  it  in  the 
evening ;  perhaps  he  was  there  now.  In  the 
shadow  of  the  houses,  she  glided  up  to  the 
tavern  door — ^it  stood  half  open — she  cautiously 
looked  in  ;  and  standing,  as  she  did,  in  the 
gloom  of  the  street,  she  could  do  so  unseen. 
The  landlord  sat  dozing  in  the  bar — not  a  sou] 
was  with  him.     Eachel  glanced  at  the  clock 


RACHEL    GRAY.  209 

above  liis  head  ;  it  marked  a  quarter  to  twelve. 
Disraayed  and  alarmed,  she  returned  to  her 
father's  house.  It  so  chanced,  that  as  she 
walked  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  narrow 
street,  a  circumstance  that  had  before  escaped 
her  notice,  now  struck  her.  In  the  room  above 
the  shop  of  Thomas  Gray,  there  burned  a  light. 
She  stopped  short,  and  looked  at  it  with  a 
beating  heart.  She  felt  sure  her  father  was 
there. 

Rachel  re-entered  the  shop,  and  again  sat 
down,  resolved  to  be  patient ;  but  her  nervous 
restlessness  soon  became  intolerable.  Seized 
with  an  indefinite  fear,  she  rose,  took  the  light, 
and  entered  the  parlour :  it  was  vacant.  Pass- 
ing under  a  low  door  which  she  found  ajar,  she 
went  up  a  dark  staircase.  It  ended  with  a 
narrow  landing,  and  a  solitary  door ;  she 
knocked,  and  got  no  reply ;  she  tried  it,  it 
yielded  to  her  hand,  and  opened  ;  but  Rachel 
did  not  cross  the  threshold  ;  she  paused  u]3on 
it,  awe-struck  at  the  sight  she  saw.  The  room 
was  a  smaU  one,  poorly  furnished,  with  a  low 


210  KACHEL   GRAY. 

and  narrow  bed,  a  table  and  a  few  chairs.  On 
the  mantle-shelf  burned  a  tallow  light,  dim  and 
lurid  for  want  of  snuffing ;  its  dull  glow  fell  on 
the  motionless  figure  of  Thomas  Gray.  He 
sat  straight  and  stiff  in  a  wooden  chair,  with  a 
hand  resting  on  each  arm.  His  face  was  ghastly 
pale,  and  rigid  as  death  ;  his  eyes  stared  on  the 
blank  wall  before  him,  and  seemed  void  of 
sight. 

"My  father  is  dead,"  thought  Eachel.  She 
entered  the  room  and  went  up  to  him.  But 
when  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  a  slight 
convulsive  motion  showed  her  that  he  still  lived. 
Ay,  he  lived,  of  that  living  death,  which  is 
worse  than  the  true.  Paralysis  had  fallen  upon 
him  without  warning.  Like  a  thief  in  the 
night  it  had  come  ;  and  in  a  few  brief  seconds 
it  had  laid  low  the  proud  man's  strength.  Of 
that  strength  he  had  boasted  in  the  morning  ; 
twelve  hours  had  not  gone  round — where  was  it 
now.f^ 

Kachel  did  not  lose  her  presence  of  mind. 
How  she  went  out,  found  a  doctor,  and  brought 


KACHEL   GRAY.  211 

him  back,  she  never  exactly  knew  ;  but  she  did 
it. 

The  medical  man  looked  at  Thomas  Gray, 
then  at  Rachel. 

'"  You  are  his  daughter,"  he  said,  kindly. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am." 

'^  Well,  then,  my  poor  girl,  I  am  very  sorry 
for  you — very  sorry.  Your  father  may  live 
years  ;  but  I  can  hold  out  no  prospect  of  re- 
covery." 

"  None,  sir,"  faltered  Rachel,  looking  wist- 
fully in  his  face. 

"Not  the  least.  Better  I  should  tell  you  so 
at  once,  than  deceive  you." 

But  Rachel  would  not — could  not  believe 
him.  The  sentence  was  too  hard,  too  pitiless 
to  be  true. 

"  Father,  father  !  do  you  know  me  ?  "  she 
cried. 

He  stared  vacantly  in  her  face.  Did  he 
know  her  ?  Perhaps  he  did.  Who  can  tell 
how  far  the  spirit  lived  in  that  dead  body  ? 
But  if  know  her  he  did,  gone  was  the  time 


212  KACHEL   GRAY. 

when  lie  could  hold  intercourse  with  that  long 
slighted,  and  now  bitterly  avenged  daughter. 

In  vain  she  clung  weeping  around  his  neck, 
in  vain  she  called  on  him  to  reply.  He  merely 
looked  at  her  in  the  same  vacant  way,  and  said 
childishly,  "  Never  mind." 

"  But  you  know  me — you  know  me,  father ! " 
said  Eachel. 

Again,  he  looked  at  her  vacantly,  and  still 
the  only  words  he  uttered  were,  "  Never  mind." 

"  His  mind  is  gone  for  ever,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. 

Eachel  did  not  answer.  She  clasped  her 
hands,  and  looked  with  wistful  sadness  on  the 
old  man's  blank  face.  With  a  pang  she  felt 
and  saw  that  now,  indeed,  her  dream  was  over 
— that  never,  never  upon  earth,  should  she  win 
that  long  hoped-for  treasure — her  father's  love. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

In  the  grey  of  tlie  morning,  Eachel  brought 
her  father  to  the  humble  little  home  wliich  he 
had  voluntarily  forsaken  years  before. 

Thomas  Gray  was  not  merely  a  paralyzed  and 
helpless  old  man,  he  was  also  destitute.  Little 
more  than  what  sufficed  to  cover  his  current 
expenses  did  Eachel  find  in  his  dwelling ;  his 
furniture  was  old  and  worthless ;  and  the  good- 
will of  the  business  scarcely  paid  the  arrears 
of  rent. 

But  the  world  rarely  gives  us  credit  for 
good  motives.  It  was  currently  reported  that 
Thomas  Gray  was  a  wealthy  man,  and  that  if 
Rachel  Gray  did  not  let  him  go  to  the  work- 
house, she  knew  why.  "  As  if  she  couldn't  let 
him  go,  and  keep  his  money  too,''  indignantly 


214  RACHEL   GEAT. 

exclaimed  Jane,  wlien  she  heard  this  slander  ; 
and,  as  discretion  was  not  Jane's  virtue,  she 
repeated  all  to  Kachel  Gray.  Poor  Bachel 
coloured  slightly.  It  seemed  strange,  and 
somewhat  hard  too,  that  her  conduct  should  he 
judged  thus.  But  the  flush  passed  from  her 
pale  face,  and  the  momentary  emotion  from  her 
heart.  "  Let  the  world  think  and  say  what  it 
Hkes,"  she  thought,  "  I  need  not,  and  I  will  not 
care." 

Not  long  after  Kachel  hrought  home  her 
father,  Jane  left  her.  The  time  of  her  appren- 
ticeship was  out;  besides,  she  was  going  to 
marry.  She  showed  more  emotion  on  their 
parting,  than  might  have  been  expected  from 
her. 

"  God  bless  you.  Miss  Gray,"  she  said  several 
times  ;  "  God  bless  you — you  are  a  good  one, 
whatever  the  world  may  think." 

The  praise  was  qualified,  and,  perhaps, 
Eachel  felt  it  to  be  so,  for  she  smiled ;  but  she 
took  it  as  Jane  meant  it — kindly.  Amity  and 
peace  marked  their  separation. 


RACHEL    GRAY.  215 

Eachel  now  remained  alone  with,  lier  father 
and  Mary.  The  young  girl  was  not  observant. 
She  saw  but  a  quiet  woman,  and  a  helpless  old 
man,  with  grey  hair,  and  stern  features  blank  of 
meaning,  who  sat  the  whole  day  long  by  the 
fireside,  waited  on  by  his  patient  daughter. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  when  Kachel  Gray  attended 
on  her  father  with  more  than  usual  tenderness, 
when  she  lingered  near  his  chair,  looking  wist- 
fully in  his  face,  or  with  timid  and  tender  hand 
gently  smoothed  away  his  whitened  hair  from 
his  rugged  brow,  sometimes,  then,  Mary  looked 
and  wondered,  and  felt  vaguely  moved,  but  she 
was  too  childish  to  know  why. 

And,  indeed,  the  story  of  Eachel's  life  at 
this  time  cannot  be  told.  It  was  beautiful ; 
but  its  beauty  was  not  of  earth,  and  to  earthly 
glance  cannot  be  revealed.  It  lay,  a  divine 
secret,  between  her  heart  and  God. 

This  peace  was  not  destined  to  last.  Ea- 
chel and  her  father  sat  alone  one  morning  in 
the  parlour,  when  Mrs.  Brown,  who  had  found 
the  street  door  ajar,  burst  in  without  preliminary 


216  KACHEL  GRAY. 

warning.  She  was  scarlet^  and  loolred  in  a 
towering  passion. 

"  You  audacious  creatur/^  she  screamed  ; 
"  you  audacious  hussey,  how  dare  you  bring  that 
man  in  this  house — in  my  house  !  How  dare 
you?" 

"  He  is  my  father/'  said  Kachel,  confounded, 
both  at  the  accusation,  and  at  the  unexpected 
appearance  of  Mrs.  Brown. 

The  reply  exasperated  Mrs.  Brown.  She  had 
never  felt  any  extraordinary  friendship  or  affec- 
tion for  her  deceased  cousin ;  but  she  had 
always  entertained  a  very  acute  sense  of  her 
cousin's  wrongs,  and  had  accordingly  honoured 
Thomas  Gray  with  no  small  share  of  hatred 
and  vituperation,  and  that  Eachel  should  not  feel 
as  she  did  on  the  subject,  or  should  presume  to 
remember  that  the  sinner  was  her  father,  was, 
in  Mrs.  Brown's  eyes,  an  offence  of  the  deepest 
dye.  She  gave  her  feelings  free  vent.  She  was 
a  vulgar  woman,  and  had  a  flow  of  vulgar  elo- 
quence at  her  command.  She  overwhelmed 
Eachel  and  Thomas  Gray  with  sarcasm,  scorn, 


RACHEL   GKAT.  217 

and  abuse,  and  Rachel  answered  not  one  word, 
but  heard  her  out,  still  as  a  statue,  and  -pale  as 
death.  Mrs.  Brown,  too,  was  pale,  but  it  was 
with  wrath. 

"  Do  you  know,''  she  added,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot  with  that  passion,  "  do  you  know 
that  I  could  turn  you  out  on  the  streets,  you 
and  your  beggarly  father — do  you  know  that  ?  " 

Eachel  did  know  it,  and  groaned  inwardly. 
Mrs.  Brown  saw  her  agony,  and  triumphed  in  the 
consciousness  of  her  own  power.  But  the  very 
violence  of  her  anger  had  by  this  time  exhaust- 
ed it ;  she  felt  much  calmer,  and  took  a  more 
rational  view  of  things. 

"  I  am  a  fool  to  mind  what  a  simpleton  like 
you  does,"  observed  Mrs.  Brown,  with  that  dis- 
regard of  politeness  which  was  one  of  her  at- 
tributes ;  "  for,  being  a  simpleton,  how  can  you 
but  do  the  acts  of  a  simpleton  ?  As  to  bring- 
ing your  father  here,  you  must  have  been  mad 
to  think  of  it ;  for,  if  you  can't  support  your- 
self, how  can  you  support  him  ?  However,  it's 
lucky  I'm  come  in  time  to  set  all  to  rights. 

10 


218  EACHEL   GKAY. 

What's  his  parish  ?  Marylebone,  ain't  it  ?  I 
shall  see  the  overseer  this  very  day,  and  manage 
that  for  you  ;  and  it's  just  as  well/'  added  Mrs. 
Brown,  divesting  herself  of  bonnet  and  shawl, 
and  proceeding  to  make  herself  at  home,  "  that 
you  didn't  meddle  in  it — a  pretty  mess  you'd 
Jiave  made  of  it,  I'll  be  bound.  "Well !  and 
what  do  you  stand  dreaming  there  for  ?  Make 
me  a  cup  of  tea — will  you  ?  I  am  just  ready  to 
drop  with  it  all."  As  a  proof  of  her  assertion, 
she  sank  on  the  chair  next  her,  took  out  her 
pocket-handkerchief,  and  began  fanning  herself 
But,  instead  of  complying  with  Mrs.  Brown's 
orders,  Eachel  Gray  stood  before  that  lady 
motionless  and  pale.  She  looked  her  in  the  face 
steadily,  and  in  a  firm,  clear  voice,  she  deliber- 
ately said : 

"  Mrs.  Brown,  my  father  shall  never,  whilst 
I  live,  go  to  a  workhouse." 

"  What ! "  screamed  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  I  say,"  repeated  Eachel,  "  that  my  father 
shall  never,  whilst  God  gives  his  daughter  life, 
go  to  a  workhouse." 


RACHEL   GRAY.  219 

Mrs.  Brown  was  confounded — then  she 
laughed  derisively. 

"Nonsense,  Eachel/'  she  said,  "nonsense. 
Why,  I  can  turn  you  out,  this  very  instant." 

But  the  threat  fell  harmless.  Kachel  was 
strong  in  that  hour  ;  her  cheek  had  colour,  her 
eye  had  light,  her  heart  had  courage.  She 
looked  at  the  helpless  old  man,  who  had  drawn 
this  storm  on  her  head,  then  at  Mrs.  Brown, 
and  calmly  laying  her  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
Thomas  Gray,  she  again  looked  in  Mrs.  Brown's 
face,  and  silently  smiled.  Her  choice  was  made 
— her  resolve  was  taken. 

"  Will  you  send  him  to  the  workhouse,  or 
not  ?  "  imperatively  cried  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  No,"  dehherately  repHed  Kachel. 

"  Oh  !  very  well,  ma'am,  very  well,"  echoed 
Mrs.  Brown,  laughing  bitterly  ;  "please  your- 
self— pray  please  yourself.  So,  that  is  my 
reward  for  saving  you  from  beggary,  is  it  ? 
Very  well,  ma'am  ;  you  and  your  father  may 
pack  off  together — that's  all." 

"  Be  it  so,"  rather  solemnly  repHed  Kachel, 


220  RACHEL   GRAY. 

^^  be  it  so.  What  I  leave  in  this  house  will,  I 
trust,  cancel  the  debt  I  owe  you.  Father/'  she 
added,  stooping  towards  him,  "lean  on  my 
shoulder,  and  get  up.     "We  must  go." 

With  apathy  Thomas  Gray  had  heard  all 
that  had  passed,  and  with  apathy,  he  trembling 
rose,  and  complied  with  Kachers  intimation, 
and  looking  in  her  face,  he  uttered  his  usual 
childish  :  "  Never  mind." 

But  before  they  reached  the  door,  Mrs. 
Brown,  to  the  surprise  and  dismay  of  Kachel, 
went  into  violent  hysterics.  She  was  an  over- 
bearing and  ill-tempered  woman,  but  her  heart 
was  not  wholly  unkind  ;  and  on  seeing  that 
Eachel  so  readily  took  her  at  her  word,  she  was 
overwhelmed  with  mingled  rage  and  shame. 
Hastily  making  her  father  sit  down  on  the 
nearest  chair,  Kachel  ran  to  Mrs.  Brown's  assist- 
ance. A  fit  of  weeping  and  bitter  reproaches 
followed  the  hysterics  ;  and  Kachel  was  convict- 
ed of  being  the  most  ungrateful  creature  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  In  vain  Kachel  attempted 
a  justification ;  Mrs.  Brown  drowned  her  in  a 


KACHEL   GRAY.  221 

torrent  of  speech^  and  remained  tlie  most  in- 
jured of  women. 

The  scene  ended  as  such  scenes  ever  end. 
There  was  a  compromise  ;  the  victim  made 
every  concession,  and  the  triumphant  tyrant 
gained  more  than  her  point.  In  short,  that  her 
father  might  not  want  the  shelter  of  a  roof, 
Kachel  agreed  to  remain  in  the  house,  and  Mrs. 
Brown  kindly  agreed  to  come  and  live  in  it,  and 
use  Rachel  as  her  servant  and  domestic  slave, 
by  which  Mrs.  Brown,  besides  keeping  her  firm 
hold  on  Rachel — no  slight  consideration  with 
one  who  loved  power  beyond  everything  else — 
effected  a  considerable  saving  in  her  income. 

"  Oh  !  my  father — my  father  !  "  thought 
Rachel,  as  she  bent  over  his  chair  that  night, 
and  tears,  which  he  felt  not,  dropped  on  his 
gray  hair,  "  httle  do  you  know  what  I  shall 
have  to  bear  for  your  sake." 

She  did  not  speak  aloud,  yet  he  seemed 
vaguely  conscious  that  something  lay  on  her 
mind  ;  for  he  shook  his  head,  and  uttered  his 
eternal  "  Never  mind,  never  mind ! " 


222  RACHEL   GRAY. 

"And  I  will  not  mind — so  lielp  me  God  ! " 
fervently  answered  Kacliel  aloud. 

And  she  did  not  mind ;  but  alas  !  what  now 
was  her  fate  ?  Ask  it  not.  She  had  made  her 
sacrifice  in  the  spirit  of  utter  abnegation,  and 
none  need  count  the  cost  which  she  never  reck- 
oned. 


CHAPTEK    XY. 

The  same  cloud  of  trouble  and  sorrow  tliat 
now  darkened  the  daily  life  of  Kachel  Gray, 
soon  gathered  over  her  neighbours  and  friends. 
With  boding  and  pain,  she  watched  the  coming 
of  a  calamity,  to  them  still  invisible. 

Mr.  Jones  got  up  one  morning,  and  felt 
exactly  as  usual.  He  took  down  his  shutters, 
and  no  presentiment  warned  him  of  the  sight 
that  was  going  to  greet  his  eyes. 

The  Tea-pot  stood  at  the  corner  of  a  street 
which  had  naturally  another  comer  facing  it ; 
that  corner — let  it  be  angle,  if  you  like, 
critical  Eeader — had,  from  time  immemorial, 
been  in  the  possession  of  a  brown,  tottering, 
untenanted  house,  whose  broken  parlour  win- 
dows Mr.  Jones  had  always  seen  filled  with 


224  EACHEL   GRAY. 

blank  oak  shutters,  strong  enougli  for  security 
and  closing  within. 

But  now,  to  his  dismay,  he  saw  half-a- 
dozen  workmen  pulling  down  the  bottom  of 
the  house,  and  leaving  the  top  untouched. 
His  heart  gave  a  great  thump  in  his  bosom. 

"  I'm  a  lost  man,"  he  thought,  "  they're 
making  a  shop  of  it/' 

And  so  they  were,  but  what  sort  of  a  shop 
was  it  to  be  ?  That  was  the  question.  Jones 
lost  no  time  ;  he  put  down  his  shutter,  thrust 
his  hands  in  his  pocket — his  usual  resource 
when  he  wanted  to  look  unconcerned — sauntered 
awhile  down  the  street,  talked  to  some  children, 
and  finally  came  back  to  the  workmen. 

"  Pulling  it  down,"  he  said,  after  looking 
at  them  for  awhile,  "  an  old  rubbishing  con- 
cern— aint  it  ?  " 

^^ Pulling  it  down!"  echoed  one  of  the 
workmen,  giving  him  a  contemptuous  look, 
"  much  you  know  about  it." 

"Well,  but  what  is  it  to  be  ?  "  asked  Jones, 
looking  as  simple  as  he  could,  "  stables  ?  " 


BACHEL    GKAY.  225 

"  Stables  !  a  shop,  stupid  ! " 

"  Oh  !  a  shop  !  Ah  !  it's  to  be  a  shop,  is 
it  ?  And  what  sort  of  a  shop — public-house  ? 
We  want  one/' 

"  Better  ask  Mr.  Smithson ;  the  house  is 
his/' 

"  Oh  !  it's  Mr.  Smithson's,  is  it  ?  " 

Jones  walked  away  much  relieved. 

Mr.  Smithson  had  long  talked  of  removing 
himself  and  his  earthenware  to  some  larger 
tenement  than  that  which  he  now  occupied  ;  a 
pleasant  neighbour  he  was  not  ;  but  anything 
was  better  than  the  fear  which  had  for  a 
moment  seized  the  heart  of  Kichard  Jones. 

The  workmen  did  not  linger  over  their  task, 
indeed,  Mr.  Smithson  took  care  that  they  should 
not.  Night  and  morning,  the  whole  day  long, 
Jones  saw  him  after  them  ;  he  watched  him 
through  the  pots  of  Scotch  marmalade  that 
decorated  the  front  of  his  shop  window,  and 
internally  admired  the  indefatigable  zeal  Mr. 
Smithson  displayed.  Humbly,  too,  he  con- 
trasted it  with  his   own  deficiencies   in   that 

10* 


226  KACHEL   GRAY. 

respect.  "  I  ain't  got  no  spirit,  that's  the  fact 
of  it/'  confessed  Mr.  Jones  in  his  own  heart. 

In  a  comparatively  short  space  of  time, 
the  bricklayers  had  done  their  task ;  they 
were  succeeded  by  the  carpenters,  who  proved 
as  zealous  and  as  active.  And  now  fear  and 
trembling  once  more  seized  the  heart  of  Kichard 
Jones.  What  were  those  busy  carpenters 
about  ?  why  were  they  fabricating  shelves  and 
drawers  ?  drawers  of  every  size,  some  small, 
some  large,  just  such  drawers  as  he  had  in  his 
shop  ?  He  questioned  one  of  their  body : 
what  was  to  be  sold  in  that  shop — did  he 
know  ?  The  man  could  not  tell,  but  rather 
fancied  it  was  to  be  an  oil  and  colour  shop. 
Then  it  was  not  to  be  Mr.  Smithson's  own  ? 
Oh,  no,  certainly  ! 

Jones  walked  away,  a  prey  to  the  most 
tormenting  anxiety.  Was  the  man  right — 
was  he  wrong  ?  had  he  spoken  the  truth  ? 
had  he  deceived  him  ?  Was  he,  Jones,  now 
that  his  business  was  really  improving,  was 
he  threatened  with  a  rival  ?     Or  was  this  but 


RACHEL   GRAY.  227 

a  false  alarm,  the  phantom  of  his  fears  ?  what 
would  he  not  have  given  to  think  so  ?  His 
case  was  the  more  distressing,  that  he  dared 
unburthen  his  mind  to  none,  to  Mary  least  of 
any.  She,  poor  little  thing,  far  from  sharing 
her  father's  fears,  rejoiced  in  the  prospect  of  a 
new  shop. 

"  It'll  make  the  street  quite  gay,"  she  said 
to  her  father,  ^^  especially  if  it's  a  linen-draper's. 
I  wonder  if  they'U  have  pretty  bonnets." 

She  tried  to  obtain  information  on  this 
interesting  point,  but  failed  completely.  Sus- 
pense is  worse  than  the  worst  reaHty.  Eichard 
Jones  lost  appetite  and  sleep.  Slumber,  when 
it  came,  was  accompanied  by  such  fearful 
nightmare,  that  waking  thoughts,  though 
bitter,  were  not,  at  least,  so  terrible.  He 
could  not  forget  the  opposite  shop  ;  in  the 
first  place,  because  he  saw  it  every  morning 
with  his  bodily  eyes  ;  in  the  second,  because 
it  ever  haunted  that  inward  eye  called  by 
Wordsworth  "  the  bliss  of  solitude."     How  far 


228  RACHEL    GRAY. 

it  proved  a  bliss  to  Kicliard  Jones,  the  reader 
may  imagine. 

All  this  time  the  shop  had  been  progressing, 
and  now  bricklayer,  carpenter,  glazier,  and 
decorator  having  done  their  work,  it  was 
completed  and  ready  for  its  tenant,  who,  how- 
ever, seemed  in  no  hurry  to  appear.  This 
proved  the  worst  time  for  Kichard  Jones.  To 
look  at  that  shop  all  the  day  long,  and  not  to 
be  able  to  make  anything  of  it ;  to  wonder 
whether  it  were  a  friend  or  an  enemy  ;  whether 
it  would  give  new  lustre  to  the  street  on  which 
he  had  cast  his  fortunes,  or  blast  those  for- 
tunes in  their  very  birth,  was  surely  no  ordinary 
trial.  Well  might  he  grow  thin,  haggard, 
and  worn. 

At  length,  the  crisis  came.  At  the  close 
of  November,  a  dread  rumour  reached  his  ears. 
The  shop  was  to  be  a  grocer's  shop,  and  it  was 
to  open  a  week  before  Christmas. 

That  same  evening,  Mary  came  home  cry- 
ing, and  much  agitated.  Mrs.  Brown,  with 
her  usual  loudness,  had  given  information. 


RACHEL    GRAY.  229 

^^  Oh,  father  ! ''  she  exclaimed,  "  Mrs. 
Brown  says  it's  to  be  a  grocer's  shop." 

"  So  I  have  heard  to-day/'  he  replied,  a 
little  gloomily.  ^'  Never  mind,  child,"  he 
added,  attemjDting  to  cheer  up,  and  a  rueful 
attempt  it  turned  out,  "  never  mind,  I  dare- 
say there's  room  for  two." 

He  said  it,  but  he  knew  it  was  not  true  , 
he  knew  there  was  room  but  for  one,  and  that 
if  two  came,  why,  either  both  must  perish 
after  a  fierce  contest,  or  one  survive  and 
triumph  over  the  ruin  of  the  other's  all.  He 
knew  it,  and  groaned  at  the  thought. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't,  father,"  said  Mary, 
again  beginning  to  cry. 

"  Mary,  my  pet,  I  can't  help  it,"  said 
Jones,  fairly  giving  way  to  feehngs  too  long 
repressed ;  "  there  aint  room  for  two,  that's 
the  plain  truth  of  it,  and  if  another  grocer 
comes,  why,  he  must  ruin  me,  or  I  must 
ruin  him  ;  and  that  aint  pleasant  to  think  of, 
is  it  ?  " 

Mary  was  not  without  spirit. 


230  RACHEL   GRAY. 

"  Father/'  she  cried  resolutely,  "  if  it's  to 
be,  why,  it's  to  be,  and  it  can't  be  helped  ; 
but  I  wouldn't  give  in  without  trying  to  get 
the  upper  hand,  that  I  wouldn't." 

Her  father  shook  his  head  disconsolately. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  "  it's  like  setting  an  old 
horse  against  a  mettlesome  young  one.  That 
new  fellow  has  got  every  advantage.  Look  at 
his  shop,  then  look  at  mine ;  why,  his  is 
twice  as  big  again.  Look  at  his  front — all 
plate  glass  ;  look  at  his  counters — all  polished 
oak  ! " 

"  Well,  and  can't  you  get  the  shop — our 
shop — done  up  too  ?  "  ambitiously  asked  Maiy. 
"  There's  time  yet." 

"  Why  yes,  there  is — but  the  money,  Mary 
dear  ! " 

"Never  mind  the  money." 

"  No  more  I  would,  my  pet,  if  I  had  got 
it  ;  but  you  see,  the  one  pound  ten  a  week 
hasn't  kept  up ;  and  those  things  cost  a 
precious  deal." 

Mary   reflected   a   while.      "  S'pose,"    she 


EACHEL    GRAY.  231 

suggested,  "  you  got  in  a  fresh  stock  of  jams 
in  glass  jars,  for  the  front  window/' 

^'  And  what  shall  we  do  with  the  old  ?  " 

"  Eat  them.  And  s'pose  you  add  a  few 
pots  of  pickles  ?  " 

"  Pickles  !  "  echoed  Jones,  looking  doubtful. 

^•'  And  s'pose/'  continued  Mary,  "  you  add 
macaroni,  and  sauces,  and  set  up  as  a  superior 
grocer." 

Jones  scratched  his  head. 

'^  Law,  child  !  "  he  said,  "  this  aint  a  stylish 
neighbourhood — and  who'll  buy  my  macaroni 
and  my  sauces  ?  " 

"  Why,  no  one,  of  course,"  superciliously 
replied  Maiy.  "  It's  not  to  sell  them,  you 
want  them  ;  it's  for  the  look  of  the  thing — to 
be  a  superior  grocer,  you  know." 

The  words  "  superior  grocer,"  gently  tickled 
secret  ambition.  Mr.  Eichard  Jones  seriously 
promised  his  daughter  to  think  about  it. 

Mary  had  other  thoughts,  which  she  did 
not  communicate  to  her  father  ;  and  of  these 
thoughts,  the  chief  was  to  find  out  what  had 


232  RACHEL   GRAY. 

become  of  Mr.  Saunders,  and  return  to  the  old 
plan  of  enticing  him  into  partnership.  She 
was  so  full  of  this  project,  that,  partly  to  get 
assistance,  partly  to  take  a  little  consequence 
on  herself,  she  imparted  it,  under  the  strictest 
secrecy,  to  Eachel  Gray  ;  and  at  the  close,  she 
pretty  clearly  hinted,  that  if  Mr.  Joseph 
Saunders  behaved  well,  he  might,  in  time, 
aspire  to  the  honour  of  her  hand. 

Kachel  heard  her  silently,  and  looked  very 
uncomfortable. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "  you 
must  not  think  of  anything  of  the  kind  ; 
indeed  you  must  not.'' 

"And  why  shouldn't  1?"  tartly  asked 
Mary,  with  a  saucy  toss  of  the  head. 

"  Because,  my  dear,''  said  Eachel,  gently 
and  sadly,  "  Jane  is  going  to  marry  that  Mr. 
Saunders,  who  is  cousin  to  Mr.  Smithson, 
who  is  putting  him  in  the  new  grocer's  shop." 

For  a  moment,  Mary  remained  stunned  ; 
then  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  He's  a  mean,  snealdng  fellow  !  that's 
what  he  is  !  "  she  cried. 


EACHEL   GKAT.  233 

"  Oil,  my  dear — my  dear  !  "  gently  said 
Eacliel,  '^  will  you  not  take  something  from  the 
hand  of  God  !  We  have  all  our  lot  to  bear/' 
she  added,  with  a  half  sigh. 

But  gently  though  Kachel  spoke,  Mary 
looked  more  rebellious  than  submissive. 

"  He's  a  mean — "  she  began  again  ;  the 
entrance  of  Mrs.  Brown  interrupted  her. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  in  a  very  ill  humour.  At 
first,  she  had  behaved  pretty  decently  to  Kachel 
and  her  father  ;  but  of  late,  she  had  given  free 
vent  to  her  natural  disposition  ;  and  it  was 
not,  we  have  no  need  to  say,  an  amiable  one. 
On  the  present  occasion,  she  had,  moreover, 
additional  cause  for  dissatisfaction. 

"  And  so,"  she  exclaimed,  slamming  the 
door,  and  irefully  addressing  Eachel,  *'  and  so 
your  beggarly  father  has  been  and  broke  my 
china  cup  !     Eh,  ma'am  !  " 

Kachel  turned  pale,  on  hearing  of  this  new 
disaster. 

"  Indeed,  Mrs.  Brown — "  she  began. 

"  Don't  Mrs.  Brown  me,"  was  the  indignant 


234  RACHEL   GRAY. 

rejoinder.  "I  tell  you,  I  have  never  had  a 
moment's  peace,  ease,  and  quiet,  and  never 
shall  have — since  you  and  your  beggarly  father 
entered  this  house." 

For,  by  a  strange  perversion  of  ideas,  Mrs. 
Brown  persisted  in  asserting  and  thinking  that 
it  was  Kachel  and  her  father  who  had  entered 
the  house,  and  not  she.  And  this,  Kachel 
mdght  have  said  ;  and  she  might  have  added 
that  to  bear  daily  reproaches  and  insults, 
formed  no  part  of  her  agreement  with  Mrs. 
Brown.  She  might — but  where  would  the 
use  have  been  ?  She  was  free  to  depart  any 
day  she  liked  ;  and  since  she  preferred  to  stay, 
why  not  bear  it  all  patiently  ?  And  so  she 
remained  silent,  whilst  Mrs.  Brown  scolded  and 
railed  ;  for,  as  she  had  said  to  Mary,  "  we  have 
all  our  lot  to  bear." 

The  lesson  Was  lost  on  the  young  girl.  No 
sooner  was  Mrs.  Brown's  back  turned,  than 
again  Mary  abused  Mr.  Saunders,  Jane,  Mr. 
Smithson  and  the  new  shop  collectively,  until 
she  could  go  home  to  her  father's.     He  already 


RACHEL   GRAY.  235 

knew  all,  and  gloomily  exclaimed,  "  that  it  was 
no  more  tlian  lie  expected  ;  that  it  was  all  of  a 
piece  ;  and  that  there  was  neither  honesty, 
gratitude,  nor  goodness  left  in  this  wicked 
world." 

From  which  comprehensive  remark  we  can 
clearly  see  that  Mr.  Jones  is  turning  misan- 
thropic. And  yet  the  matter  was  very  simple 
— an  every-day  occurrence.  Smithson  had 
seen  that  he  might  find  it  profitable  to  cut 
the  ground  under  Jones's  feet.  Why  should 
he  not  do  it  ?  Is  not  profit  the  object  of 
commerce  ?  and  is  not  competition  the  fairest 
way  of  securing  profit  ? 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  reader  may  easily  imagine  Jane  and 
Joseph  Saunders  married.  It  was  an  old  en- 
gagement. Imagine  them,  too,  returned  from 
their  wedding  tour  to  Grave  send.  It  is  even- 
ing ;  and  on  the  next  morning,  "  The  two 
Tea-pots  "  is  to  open. 

Eichard  Jones  spent  a  sleepless  night,  and 
took  down  his  shutters  as  soon  as  a  gray,  duU 
light  entered  the  street.  It  availed  little ; 
only  a  dirty  child  came  in  for  a  pennyworth  of 
brown  sugar.  It  was  half-past  eight  when 
Saunders  opened  his  shop  ;  and  just  about  that 
time  a  chill,  drizzling  rain  began  to  fall. 

The  morning  was  miserable,  and  only  a  few 
wretched  figures  flitted  about  the  wet  street. 
No   one   entered   the   "  Tea-pot ; ''    but   then 


RACHEL    GRAY.  237 

not  a  soul  either  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
rival  shop. 

And  thus  the  dull  morning  wore  on  until 
the  church  clock  struck  ten.  A  sprinkling  of 
customers  then  entered  the  shop  of  Kichard 
Jones.  They  were  one  and  all  mightily  indig- 
nant at  the  impudence  of  the  opposite  shop  in 
coming  there — a  lady  in  a  large,  black,  shabby 
straw  bonnet  in  particular. 

"  Ay,  ay,  you  may  flare  away — ^you  may 
flare  away,''  she  added,  knowingly  wagging  her 
head  at  it,  "  you'U  have  none  of  my  custom,  I 
can  tell  you.  An  ounce  of  your  four  shilling 
best,  Mr.  Jones,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"  Coming,  ma'am,  di-rectly/'  was  the 
prompt  reply. 

^'  I  never  heard  anythink  like  it— never/' 
observed  another  lady,  with  solemn  indigna- 
tion. "  Did  the  low  fellow  think  we  wanted 
Ms  shop  ! " 

An  indignant  ''  no,"  was  chorused  around. 

Kichard  Jones's  heart  swelled,  and  his 
throat  too.     He  was  much  moved. 


238  EACHEL   GKAY. 

"  Gentlemen/'  lie  began,  "  no,  ladies,  I 
mean — ladies,  I  have  always  done  my  duty 
since  I  was  a  boy,  and,  with,  the  help  of  God, 
I  mean  to  do  my  duty  till  I  die/'  Pause  and 
approving  murmur.  "  And,  ladies,  I  am  no 
speech-maker — all  I  say  is  this  :  God  forgive 
that  villain  opposite  !  You  know  the  stoiy. 
I'll  not  trouble  you  with  repeating  it.  All 
I  say  is  this  :  ladies,  if  my  customers  '11  stand 
by  me,  J'll  stand  by  my  customers — I'll  stand 
by  my  customers ! "  he  repeated,  looking 
round  the  shoj?  with  a  triumphant  eye,  and 
giving  the  counter  a  hearty  thump  with  his 
fist  ;  and,  poor  fellow,  you  may  be  sure  that 
he  did  mean  to  stand  by  his  customers. 

The  oration  proved  very  successful ;  alto- 
gether, the  day  was  successful.  The  two 
Tea-pots  remained  vacant ;  the  Tea-pot  was 
thronged.  All  Jones's  liege  subjects  were 
anxious  to  prove  their  loyalty  ;  and  though, 
when  the  gas  was  lit,  Jones  could  discern  a  few 
dark  figures  within  his  rival's  shop,  Jones  did 
not  care.     He  felt  certain  they  were  but  some 


RACHEL    GRAY.  239 

of  the  low  creatures  from  the  alley,  and  lie  did 
not  care. 

The  second  day  resembled  the  first,  and 
the  third  resembled  the  second.  Jones  felt 
quite  satisfied  ''  that  it  was  all  right,"  until 
he  cast  up  his  accounts  at  the  end  of  the 
week.  To  his  suri^rise,  he  found  that  his 
expenditure  was  barely  covered,  and  that, 
somehow  or  other,  his  gains  had  considerably 
lessened.  He  reckoned  over  and  over,  and  still 
he  came  to  the  same  result.  "  Well,  'taint  of 
much  consequence  for  one  week,"  he  thought, 
a  little  impatiently,  and  he  put  the  books  by. 

"  What's  the  matter,  father  ?  "  asked  Mary, 
looking  up  into  his  overcast  face. 

"  What's  the  matter  ! "  he  echoed  cheer- 
fully ;  "  why,  the  matter  is,  that  you  are  a 
saucy  puss — that's  what's  the  matter,"  and  he 
chucked  her  chin,  and  Mary  laughed. 

But  the  next  week's  examination  revealed 
a  still  deeper  gap.  Jones  scratched  his  head, 
and  pulled  a  long  face.  It  was  not  that  he 
minded  the  loss,  for  it  was  a  trifling  one  after 


240  RACHEL   GRAY. 

all ;  but  he  had  a  secret  dread,  and  it  stood  in 
the  background  of  his  thoughts,  like  a  ghost  in 
a  dark  room,  haunting  him.  Could  it  be — ^was 
it  possible — that  his  customers  were  playing 
him  false — that  they  were  deserting  him — and 
he  began  to  think  and  think,  and  to  remember, 
how  many  pennyworths  of  this,  and  of  that,  he 
had  sold  to  the  children,  and  how  few  shillings 
worth  he  had  sold  to  the  mothers. 

"  Well,  father,  and  how's  this  week  ? " 
asked  Mary. 

Jones  rubbed  his  chin,  and  looked  at  her 
fairly  perplexed — his  wit  was  none  of  the 
brightest — as  to  how  he  might  best  elude  the 
question. 

"  How's  this  week,"  he  echoed  ;  "  well, 
this  week  is  like  last  week  to  be  sure.  I 
wonder  how  that  fellow  Saunders  is  a  getting 
on." 

"  Law !  father,  don't  mind  him,"  said 
Mary.  "  He's  low,  that's  what  he  is — he's 
low." 

Impossible  for   us   to  translate   the   scorn 


RACHEL    GRAY.  241 

with.  wMcli  Miss  Mary  Jones  sj)oke.  It  im- 
pressed her  father.  "  Spirited  little  thing," 
he  thought,  and  he  drew  her  fondly  towards 
him,  and  kissed  her,  and  Mary  fortunately 
forgot  her  question. 

Week  after  week  passed,  and  what  had 
been  a  speck  on  the  horizon,  became  a  dark 
and  threatening  cloud.  Kichard  Jones  could 
not  shut  his  eyes  to  the  truth  that  his  custo- 
mers were  deserting  him.  Even  Mary  per- 
ceived it,  and  spoke  uneasily  on  the  subject, 
of  which  her  father  at  once  made  light. 

'^  It's  business,  child,"  he  said,  ^^  and  busi- 
ness is  all  ups  and  downs  ;  I  have  had  the  ups, 
and  the  downs  I  must  have."  Spite  this  phi- 
losophic reflection,  Mr.  Jones  could  not  help 
thinking  he  had  rather  more  than  his  share 
of  the  downs.  He  was  embittered,  too,  by 
daily  perceiving  the  defection  of  some  staunch 
customer.  That  lady  in  the  large,  shabby, 
black  straw  bonnet,  who  had  so  spiritedly 
told  "  The  two  Tea-pots  "  to  flare  away  on  the 
day  of  its  opening,  was  one  of  the  first  who 
11 


242  RACHEL    GRAY. 

forsook  the  "  Tea-pot "  for  its  rival.  Many 
followed  her  perfidious  example ;  but  Mr. 
Jones  did  not  feel  fairly  cut  up,  until  he  one 
evening  distinctly  saw  Rachel  Gray  walk  out 
of  the  opposite  shop.  The  stab  of  Brutus 
was  nothing  to  Caesar  in  comparison  with  this 
blow  to  Richard  Jones. 

And  he  was  thinking  it  over  the  next 
morning,  and  stood  behind  his  counter  break- 
ing sugar  rather  gloomily,  when  Rachel  her- 
self appeared.  Mr.  Jones  received  her  very 
coldly. 

She  asked  for  a  pound  of  sugar. 

"  And  no  tea  ?  "  he  said,  pointedly. 

"  None  to-day,"  quietly  replied  Rachel ; 
but  she  saw  that  he  knew  all,  and  she  was  too 
sincere  to  feign  ignorance.  "  Mr.  Jones,"  she 
said,  somewhat  sadly,  ''  I  must  go  where  I  am 
told,  and  do  as  I  am  bid  ;  but,  indeed,  why  do 
you  not  keep  better  tea  ?  " 

"  Better  tea  !  better  tea  !  "  echoed  Mr. 
Jones,  in  some  indignation. 

"  Yes,"  quietly  said  Rachel,  "  better  tea," 


RACHEL   GRAY.  243 

Mr.  Jones  smiled  an  injured  smile,  and 
rather  s^castically  replied  : 

"  Miss  Gray,  if  you  prefer  that  fellow^s  tea 
to  mine,  you're  welcome  to  leave  your  money  to 
him,  and  not  to  me.  'Taint  because  my 
daughter  is  prenticed  to  you  that  I  expect 
nothink  from  you,  Miss.  All  I  say  is  this  : 
don't  go  there  at  night,  Miss  Gray,  and  buy 
your  tea,  and  then  come  here  in  the  morning 
and  buy  your  sugar.  That's  not  giving  a  man 
your  custom,  you  know  it  aint.  Don't  do  it  ; 
no  offence  meant,  but  I'm  like  you.  Miss  Gray, 
plain  spoken,  you  see." 

And  he  resumed  the  breaking  of  his  sugar. 

"  I  prefer,"  sadly  said  Eachel,  ^'  when  you 
know,  Mr.  Jones,  that  I  am  no  one  now,  but 
must  go  by  the  will  of  another — indeed,  you 
wrong  me  ! " 

Jones  knew  he  did  ;  but  misfortune  makes 
men  wilfully  unjust. 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  he  interrupted,  '^  la- 
dies like  new  faces,  and  he's  a  young  feUow, 


244  RACHEL   GRAY. 

and  I  am  an  old  one,  and  so  there's  an  end 
of  it." 

Poor  Racliel  looked  mucli  pained.  To  be 
blamed  by  every  one  seemed  her  lot. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Jones,"  she  said,  "  I  must 
do  as  Mrs.  Brown  bids  me,  and  she  says  your 
four  shilling  black  is  not  equal  to  his  four,  and, 
indeed,  Mr.  Jones,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that 
others  say  so  too." 

Mr.  Jones  did  not  rej^ly  one  word ;  he  fell 
into  a  brown  study ;  at  the  close  of  it  he 
sighed,  and  looking  up,  said  earnestly  : 

"  Miss  Gray,  let  me  have  some  of  that  tea, 
will  you  ?  and  111  see  myself  what  it's  like." 

"  Of  course  you  will,"  said  Rachel,  bright- 
ening, "  you  shall  have  it  directly — directly, 
Mr.  Jones." 

And  without  loss  of  time  she  hastened 
home,  and  almost  immediately  appeared  again, 
bringing  him  the  tea  herself,  and  earnestly 
declaring  that  she  was  sure  he  had  only  to 
taste  it,  to  set  all  right,  to  which  Jones 
answered    not   a  word,   but    rather    gloomily 


RACHEL   GRAY.  245 

thaiiked  her  for  tlie  trouble  she  had  taken. 
When  he  was  once  more  alone,  he  smelt  the 
tea,  shook  his  head  and  frowned  ;  then  he  put 
it  away  until  evening  came  round,  when  he 
gave  it  to  Mary,  and  without  further  explana- 
tion, simply  told  her  that  was  the  tea  they 
were  going  to  have  this  evening.  Unconscious 
Mary  made  the  tea. 

''  La  !  father,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  poured 
the  boiling  water  upon  it,  "  what  beautiful  tea 
you've  got  ;  it's  quite  fragrant." 

*^  Is  it  ?  "  he  echoed,  faintly. 

"  Why,  of  course  it  is,"  she  said,  pettishly, 
"  I  am  sure  that  fellow  opposite  aint  got 
nothink  like  it." 

Kichard  Jones  leaned  his  brow  on  his  hand, 
and  checked  a  groan.  But  when  the  tea  was 
drawn,  when  it  was  poured  out,  when  he  raised 
the  cup  to  his  lips  and  tasted  it,  the  man's 
courage  forsook  him  ;  he  put  down  the  cup,  and 
cried  like  a  child. 

"  Father  !  father  !  "  exclaimed  Mary, 
frightened  and  bewildered. 


246  RACHEL   GRAY. 

"  Oh  !  my  darling  ! "  lie  cried,  "  we're 
ruined — we're  lost ! — that  tea  is  Joseph  Saun- 
ders's tea ;  and  he  gives  it  for  four  shillings, 
and  it's  better  than  my  five.  And  I  can't  give 
it,  nor  I  can't  get  it  neither/'  he  added, 
despairingly ;  "  for  I  have  not  got  credit,  and 
little  cash ;  and  I  buy  dear,  and  dear  I  must 
sell,  or  starve ! " 

Of  this  speech,  all  Mary  understood,  was 
that  the  tea  she  had  been  making  was  tea  from 
Mr.  Saunders's  shop.  She  deliberately  rose, 
poured  the  contents  of  the  tea-pot  on  the  ashes 
in  the  hearth ;  the  contents  of  her  own  tea-cup, 
then  of  her  father's  quickly  followed  ;  then  she 
sat  down,  folded  her  arms,  and  uttered  a  grim : 
"  There !  I  only  wish  I  could  serve  liim  so," 
she  added  after  a  pause. 

But  what  Mary  meant  by  this  wish — to 
pour  out  Joseph  Saunders  like  his  own  tea, 
seems  rather  a  fantastic  image,  even  for  hate 
— the  present  writer  does  not  venture  to  deter- 
mine. 

"  It's  all  over  ! "  sadly  said  Jones ;  "  we 


RACHEL   GRAY.  247 

can't  compete  with  him.  I'll  shut  up  shop, 
and  well  go  to  some  other  neighbourhood,  and 
live  in  our  old  way.  After  all,  111  not  he  a 
richer  nor  a  poorer  man  than  before  my  cousin 
left  me  the* sixty  pound." 

"  You  aint  got  no  spirit ! "  cried  Mary, 
turning  scarlet  with  anger.  ^^  Give  in  to  that 
fellow  ! — J'd  have  more  spirit  than  that,"  she 
added  with  mighty  scorn. 

Her  father  attempted  to  remonstrate  ;  but 
the  wilful  little  thing  would  not  listen  to  facts 
or  to  reason.  She  was  sure  Saunders  could  not 
keep  up  much  longer — that  she  was.  They 
had  only  to  wait,  and  wear  him  out. 

Alas  !  it  is  very  hard  to  tear  out  ambition 
and  pride  from  the  heart  of  man,  rich  or  poor. 
In  an  evil  hour,  Eichard  Jones  yielded. 


CHAPTEE    XVII. 

And  now,  alas  !  fairly  began  the  Tea-pot's 
downward  course.  Every  effort  of  Eichard 
Jones  to  rise,  only  made  Mm  sink  tlie  deeper. 
To  use  a  worn  ont,  though  expressive  phrase, 
•he  stirred  heaven  and  earth  to  get  better  tea  ; 
but  the  speU  to  conjure  it  forth  was  wanting. 
Jones  had  very  correctly  stated  the  case  to  his 
daughter — he  had  not  credit ;  he  had  little  or 
no  cash  ;  what  he  purchased  in  small  quan- 
tities, he  bought  dear ;  and  he  sold  as  he 
bought.  And  thus,  unable  to  compete  with 
superior  capital  and  energy,  he  declined  day  by 
day. 

But  if  he  fell,  it  was  not  without  a  struggle. 
He  turned  desperate,  and  resorted  to  a  desper- 
ate expedient ;  he  sold  his  goods  at  prime  cost, 


KACHEL    GRAY.         *  249 

and  left  himself  without  profit.  But  Jones 
did  not  care  ;  all  he  wanted  was  to  crush  his 
opponent — that  object  accomplished,  and  he 
once  more  sole  master  of  the  field,  he  could 
make  his  own  price,  and  gradually  retrieve 
lost  time,  and  heal  the  wounds  received  in  the 
battle. 

Business  requires  a  cool  head  ;  competition 
has  its  limits,  beyond  which  yawns  the  bottom- 
less pit  of  ruin.  Jones  lost  liis  temper,  and 
with  it  his  judgment.  Not  satisfied  with  the 
faint  change  for  the  better,  produced  by  the 
first  measure,  he  impatiently  resolved  "  to 
settle  that  Saunders,"  by  a  second  and  still 
bolder  stroke.  He  filled  his  shop-windows 
with  placards,  on  which  prices  were  marked, 
with  notes  of  admiration.  He  pressed  into  his 
service  a  dozen  of  little  boys,  whose  sole  busi- 
ness was  to  slip  bills  under  doors,  and  to  throw 
them  down  areas,  or  to  force  them  into  the 
hands  of  unconscious  passengers ;  and  he 
crowned  all  these  arts  by  selling  under  prime 
cost. 

11* 


250  RACHEL    GRAY. 

The  customers  could  not  resist  this  tender 
appeal  to  their  feelings ;  they  came  back  one 
and  all — the  Tea-pot  once  more  was  full — the 
two  Tea-pots  was  deserted  ;  and  Kichard  Jones 
was  triumphant. 

We  profess  no  particular  regard  for  Joseph 
Saunders  ;  but  we  cannot  deny  that  he  played 
his  cruel  game  skilfully  and  well.  He  did  not 
bring  down  his  prices  one  farthing.  Without 
emotion,  he  saw  his  shop  forsaken — he  knew 
his  own  strength  ;  he  knew,  too,  the  weakness 
of  his  enemy. 

"  Oh  !  it's  that  dodge  you  are  after,''  he 
thought,  thrusting  his  tongue  in  his  cheek. 
"  Well,  then,  it  has  beggared  many  a  man  be- 
fore you  ;  and  we  shall  see  how  long  you'll  keep 
it  up — that's  all." 

And  to  whosoever  liked  to  hear,  Saunders 
declared  that  Mr.  Jones  was  selling  at  loss,  and 
that  he  (Saunders)  could  not  afford  to  do  so  ; 
and  was  sorry  the  old  man  would  be  so  ob- 
stinate. "  Where  was  the  use,  when  he  could 
not  go  on  ? '' 


RACHEL    GRAY.  251 

Nothing  did  Jones  more  harm  that  this  as- 
sertion, and  the  knowledge  that  it  was  a  literal 
truth ;  for  though  people  worship  cheapness, 
that  goddess  of  modern  commerce,  it  is  only  on 
condition  that  she  shall  be  a  reality,  not  a  fic- 
tion ;  that  she  shall  rest  on  the  solid  basis  of 
gains,  howsoever  small :  not  on  the  sand  founda- 
tion of  loss,  that  certain  forerunner  of  failure. 
Jones  could  not,  of  course,  long  keep  up  the 
plan  of  selling  under  cost  ;  he  was  obliged  to 
give  it  up.  With  it,  ceased  his  fallacious  and 
momentary  prosperity. 

"  I  thought  so,"  soliloquized  Saunders. 

Keader,  if  you  think  that  we  mean  to  cast 
a  stone  at  the  great  shop,  you  are  mistaken. 
We  deal  not  with  pitiless  political  economy, 
with  its  laws,  with  their  workings.  The  great 
shop  must  prosper ;  'tis  in  the  nature  of 
things  ;  and  the  little  shop  must  perish — 'tis 
in  their  nature  too.  We  but  lament  this  sad 
truth,  that  on  Grod's  earth,  which  God  made 
for  all,  there  should  be  so  little  room  for  the 
poor  man ;    for  his   pride,   his   ambition,   b's 


252  KACHEL    GRAY. 

desires,  wMch  lie  has  in  common  with  the 
rich  man ;  we  but  deplore  what  all,  alas ! 
know  too  well ;  that  the  crown  of  creation, 
a  soul,  a  man  by  God's  Almighty  mind, 
fashioned  and  called  forth  into  being,  by 
Christ's  priceless  blood  purchased  and  re- 
deemed to  Heaven,  should  be  a  thing  of  so 
little  worth — ay,  so  much,  so  very  much  less 
worth  than  some  money,  in  this  strange  world 
of  ours. 

Few  pitied  Kichard  Jones  in  his  fall.  His 
little  ambition  was  remembered  as  a  crime  ;  for 
success  had  not  crowned  it.  His  little  vanities 
were  so  many  deadly  sins  ;  for  gold  did  not 
hide  or  excuse  them.  To  the  dregs,  the  un- 
happy man  drank  the  bitter  draught  which  rises 
to  the  lips  of  the  fallen,  when  they  see  the 
world  deserting  them  to  worship  a  rival.  A 
usurper  had  invaded  his  narrow  realm,  and 
crushed  him  ;  his  little  story  was  a  true  page 
from  that  great  book  of  History,  which  we  need 
not  read  to  know  how  power  decays,  or  to  learn 
of  man's  fickleness,  and  fortune's  frowns.     Alas  ! 


EACHEL    GKAY.  253 

History,  if  we  did  but  know  it,  lies  around  us, 
as  mankind  lives  in  the  meanest  wretch  we 
meet,  and  perchance  despise. 

It  is  a  bitter  thing  to  behold  our  own  ruin  ; 
it  is  a  cruel  thing  to  look  on  powerless  and 
despairing  ;  and  both  now  fell  to  the  lot  of 
Kichard  Jones.  He  had  ventured  all  and  lost 
all.  He  was  doomed — he  knew  it  ;  every  one 
knew  it.  But  alas  !  the  cup  of  his  woes  was 
not  full. 

Mary  had  always  been  dehcate.  One  chill 
evening  she  took  cold  ;  a  cough  settled  on  her 
chest ;  sometimes  it  seemed  gone,  then  suddenly 
it  returned  again.  "  She  felt  very  well,"  she 
said ;  and,  strange  to  say,  her  father  thought 
so  too.  Eachel  was  the  first  to  see  that  some- 
thing was  wrong. 

"Mary,"  she  said  to  her  one  morning, 
"  what  ails  you  ?  Your  breath  seems  quite 
short." 

"  La  !  bless  you,  Miss,"  replied  Mary,  in 
her  patronizing  way,  "  I  am  all  right." 

They  were   alone  ;    Rachel  looked  at  the 


254  RACHEL   GRAY. 

young  girl ;  her  eyes  glittered  ;  her  cheeks 
were  red  with  a  hectic  flush  ;  her  breathing  was 
quick  and  oppressive.  The  eyes  of  Kachel 
filled  with  tears  :  she  thought  of  her  little  dead 
sister  in  her  grave. 

"  Mary/'  she  said,  "  do  not  work  any  more 
to-day — go  home." 

Mary  looked  up  in  her  face,  and  laughed— 
the  gay  laugh  of  an  unconscious  child,  fearless 
of  death. 

"  Why,  Miss,  you  are  crying ! "  she  ex- 
claimed, amazed. 

^^Am  I?''  said  Rachel,  trying  to  smile, 
"  never  mind,  Mary  ;  go  home — or,  rather,  take 
this  parcel  to  Mrs.  Jameson,  number  three,  Al- 
bert Terrace.  It  is  a  fine  day — the  walk  will 
do  you  good." 

Mary  jumped  up,  charmed  at  the  prospect. 
She  tied  her  bonnet-strings  before  the  looking- 
glass,  and  hummed  the  tune  of  "  Meet  me  by 
moonlight  alone."  Mary  was  turned  sixteen  ; 
and  vague  ideas  of  romance  sometimes  flitted 
through  her  young  brain. 


RACHEL    GRAY.  255 

When  she  was  fairly  gone,  Kachel  rose,  laid 
her  work  by,  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and 
quietly  slipped  round  to  the  Tea-pot :  ostensibly 
she  wanted  to  buy  some  tea  :  her  real  purpose 
was  to  call  the  attention  of  Mr.  Jones  to  his 
daughter's  state. 

But,  strange  to  say,  Kachel  Gray  could  not 
make  him  understand  her ;  his  mind  was  full 
of  the  two  Tea-pots  ;  of  the  villany  of  that 
Saunders  ;  of  the  world's  ingratitude  ;  of  his 
misfortunes  and  his  wrongs. 

"I  dare  say  Mary  feels  it  too,''  put  in 
Eachel. 

"  Of  course  she  does.  Miss  Gray — of  course 
she  does.  The  child  has  feehngs.  And  then 
you  know.  Miss  Gray,  if  that  fellow  hadn't  a 
come  there,  why,  you  know,  we  were  getting  on 
as  well  as  could  be." 

"  I  notice  that  she  coughs,"  said  Eachel. 

"  Why,  yes,  poor  child  ;  she  can't  get  rid 
of  that  cough — she's  growing,  you  see.  And 
then,  you  see,  that  Saunders — " 


256  RACHEL   GRAY. 

"  And  her  breathing  is  so  short/'  interrupted 
Kachel. 

"  Sure  to  be,  on  account  of  the  cough. 
And,  as  I  was  saying,  that  Saunders — " 

"  But,  Mr.  Jones,  don't  you  think  you  had 
better  see  a  doctor  ? "  again  interrupted  Ea- 
chel. 

"  See  a  doctor  !  "  exclaimed  Jones,  staring 
at  her.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  my  child  is 
m.  Miss  Gray  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  she  is  quite  well,  Mr.  Jones," 
replied  Kachel,  trembling  as  she  said  so. 

He  sank  down  on  his  seat  behind  the  coun- 
ter, pale  as  death.  The  obstinate  cough,  the 
short  breathing,  the  hectic  flush,  all  rushed 
back  to  his  memory  ;  unseen,  unheeded,  till 
then,  they  now  told  him  one  fearful  story. 
With  trembhng  hand  he  wiped  away  the  drops 
of  cold  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 

"  The  doctor  must  see  her  directly,"  he  said, 
"  directly.  I'll  go  and  look  for  him,  and  you'll 
send  her  round.  It's  nothing — nothing  at  aU, 
I  am  sure  ;  she's  growing,  you  see.     But  still. 


KACHEL   GRAY.  257 

it  must  be  attended  to,  you  know — ^it  must  be 
attended  to/' 

A  light  laugh  at  the  door  interrupted  him. 
He  turned  round,  and  saw  Mary  looking  in  at 
him  and  Kachel  Gray,  through  the  glass  win- 
dows ;  with  another  laugh,  she  vanished.  Ka- 
chel went  to  the  door,  and  called  her  back. 

"  Mary,  Mary,  your  father  wants  you.'' 

The  young  girl  came  in  ;  and,  for  the  first 
time,  her  father  seemed  to  see  the  bright  red 
spot  that  burned  on  her  cheek,  the  unnatural 
brilliancy  of  her  blue  eyes,  the  painful  shortness 
of  her  breath.  A  mist  seemed  to  fall  from  his 
eyes,  and  the  dread  truth  to  stand  revealed 
before  him ;  but  he  did  not  speak,  nor  did 
Rachel ;  Mary  looked  at  them  both,  wondering. 

"  Well,  what  ails  you  two,  that  you  stare  at 
me  so,"  she  said,  pertly.  "  I  am  so  hot,"  she 
added,  after  a  while.  "  I  think  I  shall  stay  at 
home,  as  you  said,  Miss  Gray." 

She  went  into  the  back  parlour,  and  sat  down 
on  the  first  chair  she  found  at  hand.  Rachel 
Gray  and  her  father  followed  her  in.     The  poor 


258  BACHEL    GRAY. 

cMld,  wlio,  because  she  had  felt  no  actual  pain, 
had  thought  that  she  could  not  be  ill,  now,  for 
the  first  time,  felt  that  she  was  so. 

"  What  ails  you,  dear  ?  "  softly  asked  Ka- 
chel,  bending  over  her,  as  she  saw  her  gradually 
turning  pale. 

"  La  !  bless  you,  Miss  Gray,  I  am  quite 
well — only  I  feel  so  faint  Hke." 

And  even  as  she  spoke,  her  head  sank  on 
the  bosom  of  Eachel — she  had  fainted. 

When  Mary  recovered  to  consciousness,  she 
was  lying  on  her  bed,  up  stairs.  Kachel  stood 
by  her  pillow.  At  the  foot  of  her  bed,  Mary 
caught  sight  of  her  father's  face,  ghastly  pale. 
Between  the  two,  she  saw  a  strange  gentleman, 
a  doctor,  who  felt  her  pulse,  put  a  few  questions 
to  her,  wrote  a  prescription,  and  soon  left. 

"  I  must  go  now,''  said  Eachel,  "  but  I  shall 
come  back  this  evening,  and  bring  my  work." 

Jones  did  not  heed  her  ;  he  looked  stupified 
and  like  one  bereft  of  sense,  but  Mary  laughed 
and  replied,  "  Oh  !  do  Miss  Gray,  come  and 
take  tea  with  us." 


RACHEL    GRAY.  259 

Kachel  promised  tliat  slie  would  try,  Mssed 
her  and  left.  With  great  difficulty  she  obtained 
jfrom  Mrs.  Brown  the  permission  to  return. 

They  on  whom  the  light  of  this  world  shone 
not,  were  rarely  in  the  favour  of  Mrs.  Brown. 
And  only  on  condition  of  being  home  early  did 
she  allow  Eachel  to  depart.  Before  leaving, 
she  went  up  to  her  father's  chair  ;  he  was  not 
now  quite  so  helpless  as  at  first,  and  did  not 
require  her  constant  presence  or  assistance  ; 
though  he  still  did  not  know  her. 

*^  I  shall  try  and  not  be  too  long  away,"  said 
Rachel  in  a  low  voice. 

"Never  mind/'  he  muttered,  shaking  his 
head,  "'  never  mind." 

"  There's  a  precious  old  fool  for  you  !  "  said 
Mrs.  Brown  laughing  coarsely. 

A  flush  of  pain  crossed  Rachel's  cheek,  but 
to  have  replied,  would  have  been  to  draw  down 
a  storm  on  her  head ;  she  silently  left  the 
house. 

She  found  Mary  feverish,  restless,  and  full 
of  projects.     She  would  get  up  early  the  next 


260  RACHEL   GRAY. 

day,  and  make  up  for  lost  time.  She  remem- 
bered all  the  work  she  had  to  do,  and  which  she 
had  unaccountably  neglected.  Her  father's 
shirts  to  mend,  her  own  wardrobe  to  see  to  ; 
the  next  room  to  clean  up,  for  a  second  lodger 
had  never  been  found  ;  in  short,  to  hear  her,  it 
seemed  as  if  her  life  had  only  begun,  and  that 
this  was  the  day  of  its  opening.  In  vain  Ea- 
chel  tried  to  check  her  soothingly  ;  Mary  talked 
on,  and  was  so  animated  and  so  merry,  that  her 
father,  who  came  up  every  five  minutes  to  see 
how  she  was,  could  not  believe  her  so  very  ill  as 
Miss  Gray  thought,  or  the  Doctor  had  hinted. 
Indeed,  when  at  nine  Eachel  had  left,  and  he 
let  her  down  stairs,  he  seemed  quite  reheved. 

"  The  child's  only  growing/'  he  said  to 
Kachel,  "  only  growing ;  a  little  rest  and  a 
little  medicine,  and  she'U  be  all  right  again." 

But  scarcely  was  Kachel  out  of  the  door, 
when  she  burst  into  tears.  "My  poor  little 
Mary,"  she  thought,  "  my  poor  little  Mary  !  " 


CHAPTEK    XVIII. 

It  was  rather  late  wlien  Kachel  knocked 
timidly  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Brown  opened  to 
her,  and  there  was  a  storm  on  her  brow. 

"Well,  ma'am,"  she  began ;  "well,  ma'am  ! " 

"  Oh  !  pray  do  not — do  not !  "  imploringly 
exclaimed  Kachel,  clasping  her  hands. 

For  her  excessive  patience  had  of  late  ren- 
dered Mrs.  Brown's  violent  temper  whoUy  un- 
governable. Irritated  by  the  very  meekness 
which  met  her  wrath,  she  had,  with  the  instinct 
of  aggression,  found  the  only  vulnerable  point 
of  Kachel — her  father.  This  was,  indeed,  the 
heel  of  Achilles.  All  the  shafts  of  the  enemy's 
raihng  that  fell  harmless  on  the  childish  old 
man,  rebounded  on  his  daughter  with  double 
force  :  deep  and  keen  they  sank  in  her  heart, 


262  RACHEL    GRAY. 

and  every  one  inflicted  its  wound.  And  tlius  it 
was  that  Kachel  had  learned  to  look  with  terroi 
to  Mrs.  Brown's  wrath — that  she  now  shrank 
from  it  with  fear  and  trembling,  and  implored 
for  mercy. 

But  there  is  no  arguing  with  ill-temper. 
Mrs.  Brown  would  neither  give  mercy,  nor  hear 
reason.  Had  she  not  lent  twenty  pound  three 
and  six  to  Rachel  ?  Was  not  Rachel  beholden 
to  her  for  food,  shelter,  chemist's  bill,  and  phy- 
sician's fees  ?  and  should  not,  therefore,  her 
will  be  Rachel's  law,  and  her  pleasure  be 
Rachel's  pleasure  ? 

Poor  Rachel,  her  patience  was  great,  but 
now  she  felt  as  if  it  must  fail ;  as  if  she  could 
not,  even  for  the  sake  of  a  roof's  shelter,  endure 
more  from  one  to  whom  no  tie  of  love  or  regard 
bound  her — nothing  but  the  burdening  sense 
of  an  obligation  which  she  had  not  sought,  and 
for  which  she  had  already  paid  so  dearly.  She 
clasped  her  thin  hands — she  looked  with  her 
mild  brown  eyes  in  the  face  of  her  tormentor, 
and  her  lips  quivered  with  the  intensity  of  the 


RACHEL    GRAY.  263 

feelings  that  moved  her  to  reply,  and  repel  insult 
and  contumely,  and  with  the  strength  of  will 
that  kept  her  silent. 

At  length  Mrs.  Brown  grew  tired,  for  her 
ill-temper  had  tliis  quahty — it  was  vehement, 
not  slow  and  irritating  ;  the  infliction  ceased — 
Kachel  remained  alone. 

Mrs.  Brown  had  taken  j)ossession  of  the 
room  that  had  once  been  EacheFs.  Thomas 
Gray  slept  in  the  back  parlour  ;  and  in  order  to 
remain  within  reach  of  aid,  Kachel  slept  on  the 
floor  of  the  front  room.  In  this  room  it  was 
that  Mrs.  Brown  had  left  her.  Softly  Eachel 
went  and  opened  the  door  of  her  father's  room ; 
it  was  dark  and  quiet  ;  but  in  its  stillness,  she 
heard  his  regular  breathing — he  slept,  and  little 
did  he  know  how  much  that  calm  sleep  of  his 
cost  his  daughter.  She  closed  the  door,  and 
sat  down  in  her  own  room  ;  but  she  thought 
not  of  sleep  ;  the  tempter  was  with  her  in  that 
hour.  Her  heart  was  full  of  bitterness — full 
even  to  overflowing.  On  a  dark  and  dreary  sea, 
her  lot  seemed  cast ;  she  saw  not  the  guiding 


264  RACHEL   GRAY. 

star  of  faith  over  her  head.  She  saw  not  before 
her  the  haven  of  blessed  peace. 

The  words  "  Thy  will  be  done/'  fell  from 
her  lips  ;  they  were  not  in  her  heart.  Nothing 
was  there,  nothing  but  wounded  pride,  resent- 
ment, and  the  sense  of  unmerited  wrong. 

In  vain,  thinking  of  her  tyrant,  Kachel  said 
to  herself,  "I  forgive  that  woman — I  forgive 
her  freely."  She  felt  that  she  did  not ;  that 
anger  against  this  pitiless  tormentor  of  her  Hfe 
smouldered  in  her  heart  like  the  red  coal  living 
beneath  pale  ashes  ;  and  Kachel  was  startled, 
and  justly,  to  feel  that  so  strange  and  unusual 
an  emotion,  anger  against  another,  had  found 
place  in  her  bosom,  and  that  though  she  bade 
it  go,  it  stayed,  and  would  not  depart. 

To  be  gentle  is  not  to  be  passionless.  The 
spirit  of  Kachel  had  been  early  subdued,  too 
much  subdued  for  her  happiness  ;  but  it  was 
too  noble  ever  to  have  been  quenched.  It  still 
burned  within  her,  a  flame  pure  and  free, 
though  invisible.     But  now,  alas  !  the  vapours 


RACHEL   GRAY.  265 

of  eartUy  passion  dimmed  its  briglitness  :  and 
it  was  darkened  with  human  wrath. 

Through  such  moments  of  temptation  and 
trial  all  have  passed ;  and  then  it  is,  indeed, 
when  we  are  not  blinded  by  pride,  that  we  feel 
our  miserable  weakness,  a  weakness  for  which 
there  is  but  one  remedy,  but  then  it  is  a  divine 
one — the  strength  of  God, 

That  strength  Kachel  now  invoked.  De 
ProfundiSj  from  the  depths  of  her  sorrow  she 
cried  out  to  the  Lord,  not  that  her  burden 
might  grow  less,  but  that  her  strength  to  bear 
it,  to  endure,  and  forgive,  might  increase  even 
with  it.  And  strength  was  granted  unto  her. 
It  came,  not  at  once,  not  like  the  living  waters 
that  flowed  from  the  arid  rock,  when  the  pro- 
phet spoke,  but  slowly,  like  the  heavenly  manna 
that  fell  softly  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  and 
was  gathered  ere  the  sun  rose  above  the  desert. 
Kachel  felt — oh,  pure  and  blessed  feeling  ! 
— that  her  heart  was  free  from  bitterness  and 
gall ;  that  she  could  forgive  the  offender,  to 
seventy  times  seven  ;  that  she  could  pray  for 

12 


266  KACHEL    GRAY. 

her— not  with  the  lip-prayer  of  the  self-right- 
eous-Pharisee, but  with  the  heartfelt  orisons  of 
the  poor,  sinning,  and  penitent  pubhcan ;  and 
again  and  again,  and  until  the  tears  flowed 
down  her  cheek,  she  blessed  God,  the  sole 
Giver  of  so  mighty  and  superhuman  a  grace. 

And  well  it  was  for  Eachel  Gray,  that  she 
forgave  her  enemy  that  night.  Well  it  was, 
indeed,  that  the  next  sun  beheld  not  her  wrath. 
Before  that  sun  rose,  the  poor,  erring  woman 
had  given  in  her  account  of  every  deed,  and 
every  word  uttered  in  the  heat  of  anger : — 
Mrs.  Brown  had  gone  to  her  room  strong  and 
well.  She  was  found  dead  and  cold  in  her  bed 
the  next  morning. 

A  coroner's  inquest  was  held,  and  a  verdict 
of  "sudden  death''  recorded.  And  a  will,  too, 
was  found  in  a  tea-caddy,  by  which  Mrs.  Brown 
formally  bequeathed  all  her  property  to  Eachel 
Gray,  "  as  a  proof,"  said  the  will,  "  of  her  ad- 
miration and  respect." 

On  hearing  the  words,  Eachel  burst  into 
tears. 


RACHEL   GRAY.  267 

"  Thank  Grod !  that  I  forgave  her !  '*  she  ex- 
claimed, "  thank  God  ! '' 

"Well  indeed  might  she  thank  the  Divine 
bestower  of  all  forgiveness.  The  legacy  was 
not  after  all  a  large  one.  Mrs.  Brown's  annuity 
died  with  her ;  she  left  little  more  money  than 
buried  her  decently;  the  ground  lease  of  the 
house  in  which  she  had  originally  resided  was 
almost  out,  and  the  bequest  was  in  reahty 
limited  to  the  present  abode  of  Kachel ;  but  in- 
valuable to  her  indeed,  was  the  shelter  of  that 
humble  home,  now  her  own  for  ever. 

And  when  all  was  over  ;  when  the  grave 
had  closed  on  one,  who  not  being  at  peace  her- 
self, could  not  give  peace  to  others,  when  Eachel 
and  her  father  remained  alone  in  the  little 
house,  now  hushed  and  silenced  from  all  rude 
and  jarring  sounds,  safe  from  all  tyrannical  in- 
terference, Eachel  felt,  with  secret  thankfulness, 
that  if  her  lot  was  not  happy,  according  to  hu- 
man weakness,  it  was  blest  with  peace  and 
quiet,  and  all  the  good  that  from  them  spring. 
If  a  cloud  still  hngered  over  it,  it  was  only  be- 


268  RACHEL   GRAY. 

cause,  looking  at  her  father,  she  remembered 
the  unfulfilled  desire  of  her  heart ;  and  if  on 
days  otherwise  now  marked  with  peace,  there 
sometimes  fell  the  darkness  of  a  passing  shadow, 
it  was  only  when  she  saw  and  felt  too  keenly 
the  sorrows  of  others. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Richard  Jones  still  hoped  :  "  Mary  was  so 
young  ! "  He  would  hope.  But  it  was  not  to 
be  ;  he  had  but  tasted  the  cup  of  his  sorrows  ; 
to  the  dregs  was  he  to  drink  it ;  the  earthly 
idol  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart  was  to  be 
snatched  from  him  ;  he  was  to  waken  one  day 
to  the  bitter  knowledge  :  "  there  is  no  hope  ! " 

How  he  felt  we  know  not,  and  cannot  tell : 
none  have  a  right  to  describe  that  grief  save 
they  who  have  passed  through  it ;  we  dare  not 
unveil  the  father's  heart :  we  deal  but  with  the 
external  aspect  of  things,  and  sad  and  bitter 
enough  it  was. 

In  a  silent  shop,  where  the  sugar  seemed  to 
shrink  away  in  the  casks,  where  the  tea-chests 
looked  hollow,   where   dust   gathered   on    the 


270  RACHEL    GRAY. 

counter,  on  the  shelves,  in  the  corners,  every- 
where ;  where  all  looked  blasted  and  withered 
by  the  deadly  upas  tree  opposite,  you  might 
have  seen  a  haggard  man  who  stood  there  day 
after  day,  waiting  for  customers  that  came  not, 
and  who  from  behind  his  shop  windows  drearily 
watched  the  o23posite  shop,  always  full ;  thriv- 
ing, fattening  on  his  ruin  ;  or  who,  sadder  sight 
to  his  eyes  and  heart,  looked  at  the  little  back 
parlour,  where,  on  her  sick  bed,  his  dying 
daughter  lay. 

Mary,  as  her  illness  drew  towards  its  close, 
became  fanciful,  she  insisted  on  having  her  bed 
brought  down  to  the  back  parlour,  and  would 
leave  her  door  open,  "in  order  to  mind  the 
shop,"  she  said.  If  anything  could  hasten  her 
father's  ruin,  this  did  it :  the  few  customers 
whom  he  had  left,  gradually  dropped  off,  scared 
away  by  that  sick  girl,  looking  at  them  with 
her  eager,  glittering  eyes. 

He  sat  by  her  one  evening  in  a  sad  and 
very  bitter  mood.  She  was  ill,  very  ill,  and 
for  three   days  not  a   soul   had   crossed   the 


RACHEL    GRAY.  271 

thresliold  of  his  shop.  His  love  and  his  am- 
bition were  passing  away  together  from  his  life. 

"  Father/'  querulously  said  Mary,  "  why  did 
you  shut  the  shop  so  early  ? "  For  since  her 
illness  the  young  girl's  mind  was  always  run- 
ning on  the  shop. 

"  Where's  the  use  of  leaving  it  open  1 " 
huskily  ^  answered  Jones,  "  unless  it's  to  see 
them  all  going  to  the  two  Tea-23ots  opposite." 

"  Well,  but  I  wish  you  had  not,"  she  re- 
sumed, "  it  looks  so  dull  and  so  dark." 

It  is  very  likely  that  to  please  her,  Kichard 
Jones  would  have  gone  and  taken  the  shutters 
down  ;  but  for  a  knock  at  the  private  door. 

''  There's  Miss  Grray,"  said  Mary,  her  face 
lighting. 

Kichard  Jones  went  and  opened  it  ;  it  was 
Eachel  Gray.  The  light  of  the  candle  which 
he  held  fell  full  on  his  face  ;  Kachel  was  struck 
with  its  haggard  expression. 

'^You^do  not  look  well,  Mr.  Jones/'  she 
said. 

"  Don't  I,  Miss  Gray,"  he  replied,  with  a 


272  KACHEL   GRAY. 

dreary  sraile,  "  well,  that's  a  wonder  !  Look 
here  !  '*  he  added,  leading  her  into  the  shop 
where  his  tallow  candle  shed  but  a  dim,  dull 
light,  "  look  here,''  he  continued,  raising  it 
high,  and  turning  it  round  so  that  it  cast  its 
faint  gleam  over  the  whole  place,  "  look  here  ; 
there's  a  shop  for  you.  Miss  Gray.  How  long 
ago  is  it  since  you,  and  your  mother,  and  Mary 
and  I  we  settled  that  shop.  Look  at  it  now,  I 
say — look  at  it  now.  Look  here  ! "  and  he 
thrust  the  light  down  a  cask,  "  empty  !  Look 
there  ! "  and  he  raised  the  lid  of  a  tea-chest, 
"  empty  !  Do  you  wish  to  try  the  drawers  ? 
Oh  !  they  are  all  labelled,  but  what's  in  'em. 
Miss  Gray  ?  nothing  !  It's  well  the  customers 
have  left  off  coming  ;  for  I  couldn't  serve  them  ; 
couldn't  accommodate  them,  I  am  sorry  to  say," 
and  he  laughed  very  bitterly.  "  I  was  happy 
when  I  came  here,"  he  resumed,  "  I  had  hope  ; 
I  thought  there  was  an  opening ;  I  thought 
there  was  room  for  me.  I  set  up  this  shop  ;  I 
did  it  all  up  myself,  as  you  know — every  inch 
of  it  ;  I  painted  it ;  I  put  the  fixtures  in ;  I 


RACHEL   GRAY. 


273 


drove  every  nail  in  with  my  own  hand,  and 
what's  been  the  upshot  of  it  all,  Miss  Gray  ?  " 

Kachel  raised  her  soft  brown  eyes  to  his  : 

"  It  is  the  will  of  God,"  she  said,  ''  and 
God  knows  best,  for  He  is  good." 

Kichard  Jones  looked  at  her  and  smiled 
almost  sternly,  for  suffering  gives  dignity  to 
the  meanest,  and  no  man,  when  he  feels  deej^ly, 
is  the  same  man  as  when  his  feelings  are  un- 
stirred. 

"  Miss  Gray,"  he  said,  "  I  have  worked 
from  my  youth — slaved  some  would  say ;  I 
hoped  to  make  out  something  for  myself  and 
my  child,  and  it  was  more  of  her  than  of  myself 
I  thought.  I  wronged  none  ;  I  did  my  best  ;  a 
rich  man  steps  in,  and  I  am  beggared — and  you 
teU  me  God  is  good — mind,  I  don't  say  he  aint 
— ^but  is  he  good  to  me  ?  " 

Eachel  Gray  shook  with  nervous  emotion 
from  head  to  foot.  She  was  pained — she  was 
distressed  at  the  question.  Still  more  dis- 
tressed because  her  mind  was  so  bewildered, 
because  her  ideas  were  in  such  strange  tumult, 

12* 


274  RACHEL    GRAY. 

that  with  the  most  ardent  wish  to  speak,  she 
could  not.  As  when  in  a  dream  we  struggle  to 
move  and  cannot,  our  will  being  fettered  by 
the  slumber  of  the  body,  so  Eachel  felt  then,  so 
alas !  for  her  torment  she  felt  almost  always  ; 
conscious  of  truths  sublime,  beautiful  and 
consoling,  but  unable  to  express  them  in 
speech. 

"  God  is  good,''  she  said  again,  clinging  to 
that  truth  as  to  her  anchor  of  safety. 

Again  Kichard  Jones  smiled. 

"  And  my  child.  Miss  Gray,''  he  said, 
lowering  his  voice  so  that  his  words  could  not 
reach  the  next  room,  "  going  by  inches  before 
my  very  eyes  ;  yet  I  must  look  on  and  not  go 
mad.  I  must  be  beggared,  and  I  must  bear  it ; 
I  must  become  childless,  and  I  must  bear  it. 
And  the  wicked  thrive,  and  the  wicked's  chil- 
dren outlive  them,  for  God  is  good  to  them, 
Miss  Gray." 

The  eyes  of  Eachel  filled  with  tears ;  her 
brow  became  clouded. 


KACHEL    GRAY.  275 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Jones/'  she  said,  ^'  do  not  com- 
plain ;  you  have  loved  your  child.'' 

"  What-  are  you  keeping  Miss  Gray  there 
for?"  pettishly  said  the  voice  of  Mary,  "I 
want  her." 

"  And  here  I  am,  dear/''  said  Eachel,  going 
in  to  her,  ^'I  am  come  to  sit  a  while  with  you  ; 
for  I  am  sure  your  j)oor  father  wants  rest, 
does  he  not  1" 

"  I  don't  want  any  one  to  sit  with  me," 
impatiently  replied  Mary,  "I  am  not  so  ill 
as  all  that." 

"  But  do  you  sleep  at  night  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't — I  am  so  feverish." 

"  Well,  then,  we  sit  up  with  you  to  keep 
you  company,"  said  her  father. 

This  explanation  apparently  satisfied  Mary, 
who  began  to  talk  of  other  things.  She  knew 
not  she  was  dying  ;  whence  should  the  know- 
ledge have  come  to  a  mere  child  like  her. 
None  had  told  her  the  truth.  And  she  was 
passing  away  into  eternity,  unconscious — her 


276  KACHEL    GRAY. 

heart,  her  thoughts,  her  soul  full  of  the 
shadows  of  life. 

Eachel  saw  and  knew  it,  and  it  grieved  her. 
She  remembered  her  little  sister's  happy  and 
smiling  death-bed,  and  from  her  heart  she 
prayed  that  a  similar  blessing  might  crown  the 
last  hours  of  little  Mary  ;  that  she  might  go 
to  her  God  like  a  child  to  her  father. 

And  when  Kichard  Jones,  after  sitting  up 
with  them  until  twelvCj  went  upstairs  to  rest 
awhile,  and  Kachel  heard  Mary  talk  of  her 
recovery,  and  of  projects  and  hopes,  vain  to 
her  as  a  dream,  ^e  could  not  help  feeling  that 
it  was  her  duty  to  speak.  They  were  alone, 
"  yes,  now,''  thought  Eachel,  "  now  is  the  time 
to  speak." 

Oh  !  hard  and  bitter  task :  to  tell  the  young 
of  death  ;  the  hoping  that  they  must  not  hope ; 
to  tell  those  who  would  so  fondly  delay  and 
linger  in  this  valley,  that  they  must  depart  for 
the  land  that  is  so  near,  and  that  seems  so  far. 
Rachel  knew  not  how  to  begin.  Mary  opene  i 
the  subject. 


RACHEL   GRAY.  2*77 

"  I  shall  be  glad  when  I  am  well  again," 
she  said,  "  I  am  tired  of  this  little  room  ;  it 
seems  so  dull  when  I  see  the  sun  shine  in  the 
street,  don't  it  Miss  Gray 7"  "I  dare  say  it 
does  :  you  remind  me  of  a  httle  story  I  once 
read  ;  shall  I  tell  it  to  you?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes  you  may,"  carelessly  replied 
Mary,  yawning  slightly  ;  she  thought  Miss 
Gray  prosy  at  times. 

"It  is  not  a  long  story,"  said  Rachel, 
timidly,  "  and  here  it  is  ;  a  king  was  once 
hunting  alone  in  a  wood,  when  he  heard  a  very 
beautiful  voice  singing  very  sweetly ;  he  went 
on  and  saw  a  poor  leper." 

"  What's  a  leper  ?  "  interrupted  Mary. 

"  Don't  you  remember  the  lepers  in  the 
Gospel,  who  were  made  clean  by  our  Saviour  ? 
they  were  poor  things,  who  had  a  bad  and 
loathsome  complaint,  and  this  man,  whom  the 
king  heard  singing,  was  one  ;  and  the  king 
could  not  help  saying  to  him,  '  how  can  you 
sing  when  you  seem  in  so  wretched  a  condition?' 
But  the  leper  replied,  ^  it  is  because  I  am  in 


278  KACHEL   GRAY. 

this  state  tliat  I  sing,  for  as  my  body  decays,  I 
know  tliat  tlie  hour  of  my  deliverance  draws 
nigh,  that  I  shall  leave  ^this  miserable  world, 
and  go  to  my  Lord  and  my  God/  " 

Mary  looked  at  Eachel  surprised  at  the 
impressive  and  earnest  tone  with  which  she 
spoke. 

"  Well  but.  Miss  Gray,"  she  said,  at  length, 
"  what  is  there  like  me  in  this  story  ;  I  am 
not  a  leper,  am  I  ?  " 

"  We  are  all  lepers,"  gently  said  Kachel, 
"  for  we  are  all  sinners,  and  sin  is  to  the  soul 
what  leprosy  is  to  the  body ;  it  defiles  it,  and 
we  all  should  be  glad  to  die  ;  for  Christ  has 
conquered  death,  and  with  death  sin  ends,  and 
our  true  life,  the  life  in  God  begins." 

Mary  raised  herself  on  one  elbow.  She 
looked  at  Kachel  fixedly,  earnestly ;  "  Miss 
Gray,"  she  said  ;  '^  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Kachel  did  not  reply — she  could  not. 

"  Why  do  you  tell  me  all  these  things  ?  " 
continued  Mary. 

And  still  Kachel  could  not  speak. 


RACHEL    GRAY.  279 

"  Miss  Gray/'  said  Mary,  "  am  J  going  to 
die  ?  "  She  looked  wistfully  in  Eachers  face, 
and  the  beseeching  tone  of  her  young  childish 
voice  seemed  to  pierce  Kachel's  heart  ;  but  she 
had  begun ;  she  could  not,  she  dared  not  go 
back.  She  rose,  she  clasped  her  hands,  she 
trembled  from  head  to  foot,  tears  streamed 
down  her  cheek  ;  her  voice  faltered  so  that  she 
could  scarcely  speak,  but  she  mastered  it,  clear 
and  distinct  the  words  came  out.  "  Mary,  we 
must  all  obey  the  will  of  God  ;  we  came  into 
this  world  at  His  will,  at  His  will  we  must 
leave  it.'' 

"  And  must  I  leave  it.  Miss  Gray  ?  "  asked 
Mary,  persisting  in  her  questioning  like  a 
chHd. 

Kachel  stooped  over  her  ;  the  fast  tears 
poured  from  her  face  on  Mary's  pale  brow, 
*'  yes,  my  darhng,"  she  said,  softly,  "  yes,  you 
must  leave  this  miserable  earth  of  trouble  and 
sorrow,  and  go  to  God  your  friend  and  your 
father." 

The  weakest,  the  frailest  creatures  often 


280  BACHEL    GRAY. 

rise  to  heroic  courage.  This  fretful,  pettish 
child  heard  her  sentence  with  some  wonder, 
but  apparently  without  sorrow. 

"Don't  cry,  Miss  Gray,"  she  said,  '^  J  don't 
cry  ;  but  do  you  know,  it  seems  so  odd  that  I 
should  die,  doesn't  it  now  ?  " 

Kachel  did  not  reply,  nor  did  she  attempt 
it  ;  her  very  heart  was  wrung.  Mary  guessed, 
or  saw  it. 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  fret,"  she  said,  "  I 
wish  you  would  not.  Miss  Gray.  /  don't,  you 
see." 

'^  Ay,"  thought  Kachel,  "  you  do  not,  my 
poor  child,  for  what  do  you  know  of  death  ?  " 
And  a  little  while  after  this,  Mary,  who  felt 
heavy,  fell  asleep  with  her  hand  in  that  of 
Kachel  Gray. 


CHAPTEK   XX. 

Thkee  days  had  passed. 

The  morning  was  gray  and  dull.  He  had 
sat  up  all  night  by  Mary  ;  for  Eachel,  ex- 
hausted with  fatigue,  had  been  unable  to  come. 
Poor  httle  Mary,  her  hour  was  nigh  ;  she  knew 
it,  and  her  young  heart  grieved  for  her  father, 
so  soon  to  be  childless.  She  thought  of  herself 
too  ;  she  looked  over  the  whole  of  her  young 
life,  and  she  saw  its  transgressions  and  its  sins 
with  a  sorrow  free  from  faithless  dismay  ;  for 
Kachel  had  said  to  her  :  ''  Shall  we  dare  to 
limit  for  ourselves,  or  for  others,  the  unfathomed 
mercy  of  God  ?  " 

"  Father,"  she  suddenly  said,  "  I  want  to 
speak  to  you." 

"  What  is  it,  my  darling  ?  "  he  asked,  bend- 


282  *  RACHEL    GRAY. 

ing  over  iter  fondly.  She  looked  up  in  Ms  face, 
her  cheeks  flushed  with  a  deeper  hectic,  her 
glassy  eyes  lit  with  a  brighter  light, 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  I  have  been  a  naughty 
child,  have  I  not  ?  " 

"  No — no,  my  little  pet  ;  never,  indeed, 
never." 

''  I  know  I  have  been  naughty,  father ;  I 
have  been,  oh  !  so  cross  at  times  ;  but,  father, 
I  could  not  help  it — at  least,  it  seemed  as  if  I 
could  not — my  back  ached  so,  and  indeed,"  she 
added,  clasping  her  hands,  ^^  I  am  very  sorry, 
father,  very  sorry." 

He  stooped  still  nearer  to  her  ;  he  laid  his 
cheek  on  her  pillow  ;  he  kissed  her  hot  brow. 
Little  Mary  half  smiled. 

"  You  forgive  me,  don't  you  ?  "  she  mur- 
mured faintly. 

"  Forgive  you  !  my  pet — my  darling." 

"  Yes,  pray  do,"  she  said. 

She  could  scarcely  speak  now  ;  there  was  a 
film  on  her  eyes,  too.     He  saw  it  gathering 


RACHEL    GRAY.  283 

fast,  very  fast.  Suddenly  slie  seemed  to  revive 
like  a  dying  flame.     Again  she  addressed  liim. 

"  Father  !  "  she  said,  "  why  don't  you  take 
down  the  shutters  ?  " 

And  with  singular  earnestness  she  fixed 
her  eyes  on  his.  Take  down  the  shutters  ? 
The  question  seemed  a  stab  sent  through  his 
very  heart.  Yet  he  mastered  himself,  and 
repHed  :  "  'Tis  early  yet ;  'tis  veiy  early,  my 
darhng." 

''  No  'taint,"  she  said,  in  her  old  pettish 
way,  and  then  she  murmured  in  a  low  and 
humbled  tone  :  "  Ah  !  I  forget — I  forget.  I 
did  not  mean  to  be  cross  again.  Indeed  I  did 
not,  father,  so  pray  forgive  me." 

"  Don't  think  of  it,  my  pet.  Do  you  wish 
for  anything  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  father,  but  that  you  would  take 
down  the  shutters." 

He  tried  to  speak — ^lie  could  not ;  only  a 
few  broken  sounds  gasped  on  his  lips  for  utter- 
ance. 

"  Because  you  see,"   she    continued  with 


284  RACHEL   GRAY. 

strange  earnestness,  "  the  customers  will  all  be 
comingj  and  wondering  if  they  see  the  shop 
shut ;  and  they  will  think  me  worse,  and  so — 
and  so — " 

She  could  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  she 
tried  to  do  so. 

"  And  so  you  see,  father.''  Again  the  words 
died  away.  Her  father  raised  his  head  ;  he 
looked  at  her  ;  he  saw  her  growing  very  white. 
Again  he  bent,  and  softly  whispered :  "  My 
darling,  did  you  say  your  prayers  this  morn- 
ing ?  '' 

An  expression  of  surprise  stole  over  the 
child's  wan  face. 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  she  replied,  faintly,  "  I 
shall  say  them  now."  She  folded  her  thin 
hands,  her  lips  moved.  "  Our  father  who  art 
in  heaven,"  she  said,  and  she  began  a  prayer 
that  was  never  finished  upon  earth. 

The  dread  moment  had  come.  The  angel 
of  death  stood  in  that  hushed  room ;  swiftly 
and  gently  he  fulfilled  his  errand,  then  departed, 
leaving  all  in  silence,  breathless  and  deep. 


KACHEL    GRAY.  285 

He  knew  it  was  all  over.  He  rose  ;  lie 
closed  tlie  eyes,  composed  tlie  slender  limbs, 
then  lie  sat  down  by  bis  dead  child,  a  desolate 
man — a  heart-broken  father.  How  long  he  sat 
thus  he  knew  not ;  a  knock  at  the  door  at 
length  roused  him.  Mechanically  he  rose  and 
went  and  opened.  He  saw  a  man  who  at  once 
stepped  in  and  closed  the  door,  and  before  the 
man  spoke,  Jones  knew  his  errand. 

^^It's  all  right/'  he  said,  ^^I  know  the  land- 
lord could  scarcely  help  it ;  come  in." 

The  bailiff  was  a  bluff,  hearty-looking  man  ; 
he  gave  Jones  a  sound  slap  on  the  shoulder. 

''  You  are  a  trump  !  that's  what  you  are,'' 
he  said,  with  a  big  oath. 

Jones  did  not  answer,  but  showed  his  guest 
into  the  back  parlour. 

"  Halloo  !  what's  that  ? "  cried  the  bailiff, 
attempting  to  raise  the  bed-curtain. 

"  Don't,"  said  Jones,  in  a  husky  voice. 

Then  the  man  saw  what  it  was,  and  he 
exclaimed  quite  ruefully  :  "I  am  very  sorry — 
I  am  very  sorry." 


286  KACHEL   GRAY. 

,  "You  can't  lielp  it/'  meekly  said  Jones, 
"  you  must  do  your  duty." 

"  Why  that's  what  I  always  say,"  cried  the 
bailiff  with  a  second  oath,  rather  bigger  than 
the  first,  "  a  man  must  do  his  duty,  mustn't 
he  ?  "  and  a  third  oath  slipped  out. 

"  Don't  swear,  pray  don't !  "  said  Jones. 

"  And  if  I  do,  may  I  be — "  here  the  swear- 
ing bailiff  paused  aghast  at  what  he  was  going 
to  add.  "  I  can't  help  myself  like,"  he  said, 
rather  ruefully,  "it's  second  natur,  you  see, 
second  natur.  But  I'll  try  and  not  do  it — I'll 
tiy." 

And  speaking  quite  softly,  spite  of  his  swear- 
ing propensities,  he  looked  wistfully  at  Jones  ; 
but  the  childless  father's  face  remained  a  blank. 

"Make  yourself  at  home,"  he  said  in  a 
subdued  voice.  "I  think  you'll  find  aU  you 
want  in  that  cupboard,  at  least  'tis  all  I  have." 

And  he  resumed  his  place  by  the  dead. 

"  All  I  want,  and  all  you  have,"  muttered 
the  bailiff  with  his  head  in  the  cupboard. 
"  Then  faith,  my  poor  fellow,  'taint  much." 


RACHEL    GRAY.  287 

The  day  was  chill  and  very  dreary  ;  the 
bailiff  smoked  his  pipe  by  the  low  smouldering 
fire,  and  yawned  over  a  dirty  old  newspaper. 
Two  hours  had  passed  thus  when  Jones  said  to 
him  :  "  You  don't  want  for  anything,  do  you  ?  " 

"Why  no/'  musingly  rephed  the  baihff, 
taking  out  his  pipe,  and  looking  up  from  his 
paper,  "  thank  you,  I  can't  say  I  want  for  any- 
thing, but  what  have  you  to  say  to  a  glass  of 
grog,  eh  ?  " 

He  rather  brightened  himself  at  the  idea. 

"  I'll  send  for  anything  you  like,"  drearily 
rephed  Jones,  and  it  was  plain  he  had  not  un- 
derstood as  relating  to  himself  the  kindly  meant 
proposal. 

The  bailiff  rather  stiffly  said,  he  wanted 
nothing. 

"  Well  then,"  resumed  Jones,  slipping  off 
his  shoes,  "  I'll  leave  you  for  awhile." 

"  Why,  where  are  you  going  ?  "  cried  the 
other  staring. 

"  There,"  said  Jones,  and  raising  the  cur- 
tain, he  crept  in  to  his  dead  darling. 


288 


RACHEL   GRAY. 


The  curtain  shrouded  Mm  in  ;  he  was  alone 
— alone  with  his  child  and  his  grief.  A  little 
child  he  had  cradled  her  in  his  arms  ;  many  a 
time  had  she  slept  in  that  fond  embrace,  to  her 
both  a  protection  and  a  caress.  And  now  ! 
He  looked  at  the  Httle  pale  face  that  had  fallen 
asleep  in  prayer  ;  he  saw  it  lying  on  its  pillow 
in  death-like  stillness  ;  and  if  he  repressed  the 
groan  that  rose  to  his  lips,  the  deeper  was  his 
anguish. 

Oh,  passion  1  eloquent  pages  have  been 
wasted  on  thy  woes  ;  volumes  have  been  written 
to  tell  mankind  of  thy  delights  and  thy  tor- 
ments. To  no  other  tale  will  youth  bend  its 
greedy  ear,  of  no  other  feelings  will  man  ac- 
knowledge the  power  to  charm  his  spirit  and  his 
heart.  And  here  was  one  who  knew  thee  not  in 
name  or  in  truth,  and  yet  who  drank  to  the  dregs, 
and  to  the  last  bitterness  his  cup  of  sorrow. 
Oh  !  miserable  and  unpoetic  griefs  of  the  pro- 
saic poor.  Where  are  ye,  elements  of  power 
and  pathos  of  our  modern  epic  :  the  novel  ? 
A  wretched  shop  that  will  not  take,  a  sickly 


RACHEL    GRAY.  289 

child  that  dies  !  Ay,  and  were  the  picture  but 
drawn  by  an  abler  hand,  know  proud  reader,  if 
proud  thou  art,  that  thy  very  heart  could  bleed, 
that  thy  very  soul  would  be  wrung  to  read  this 
page  from  a  poor  man's  story. 

And  so  he  lay  by  his  dead,  swelling  with  a 
tearless  agony,  a  nameless  and  twofold  desola- 
tion. Gaze  not  on  that  grief — eye  of  man  : 
thou  art  powerless  to  pity,  for  thou  art  powerless 
to  understand. 

"  Only  think  ! "  said  a  neighbour  to  Mrs. 
Smith,  "  Mr.  Jones's  shutters  have  been  closed 
the  whole  day.  I  can't  think  what  the  matter 
is." 

"  Can't  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Smith  laughing, 
^'-  why  woman,  the  shop  is  shut." 

Ay,  the  shop  was  shut.  The  shop  which 
Eichard- Jones  had  opened  with  so  much  pride 
— the  shop  which  he  had  ever  linked  with  his 
child,  closed  on  the  day  of  her  death,  and  never 
reopened.  He  did  not  care.  His  Kttle  am- 
bition was  wrecked  ;  his  little  pride  was  broken  ; 
his  little  cruise  of  love  had  been  poured  forth 
13 


290  RACHEL   GRAY. 

upon  the  eartli  by  Grod's  own  hand  ;  it  was 
empty  and  dry  ;  arid  sand  and  dust  had  drunk 
up  its  once  sweet  waters. 

What  a  man  without  ambition,  pride,  and 
love  may  be,  he  had  become  in  the  one  day 
that  bereaved  him. 

Pity  not  him,  reader ;  his  tale  is  told ; 
pity  him  whose  bitter  story  of  hope  and  dis- 
appointment but  begins  as  I  write,  and  as  you 
read.  For  mortal  hand  has  not  sounded  the 
bitter  depth  of  such  woes.  In  them  live  the 
true  tragic  passions  that  else  seem  to  have 
passed  from  the  earth  ;  passions  that  could 
rouse  the  meekest  to  revenge  and  wrath,  if 
daily  dew  from  heaven  fell  not  on  poor  parched 
hearts,  as  nightly  it  comes  down  from  the  skies 
above,  on  thirsting  earth. 


CHAPTEK   XXI. 

A  TIME  may  come  when  tlie  London  cliurcli- 
yard  sliall  be  remembered  as  a  thing  that  has 
been  and  is  no  more  ;  but  now  who  knows  it 
not  ?  Who  need  describe  the  serried  grave- 
stones that  mark  the  resting  j)laces  in  this  sad 
field  of  death  ;  who  need  tell  how  they  stare 
at  busy  passers  by  through  their  iron  grating — 
how  they  look  ghastly,  like  the  guest  of  the 
Egyptian  feast,  dead  in  the  midst  of  tumult 
and  riotous  life. 

Dreary  are  they  when  the  sun  shines  on 
them,  and  their  rank  weeds,  the  sun  which 
those  beneath  feel  not,  but  more  dreary  by  far 
when  the  drizzhng  rain  pours  down  the  dark 
church  walls  and  filters  into  the  sodden  earth. 


292  RACHEL   GRAY. 

And  in  such  a  place  and  on  such  a  day  did  they 
make  the  grave  of  Mary  Jones. 

Two  mourners  stood  by :  a  woman  and  a 
man.  When  all  was  over,  when  earth  had 
closed  over  the  grave  and  its  contents,  the  man 
sat  down  on  a  neighbouring  gravestone,  and 
looked  at  that  red  mound  which  held  his  all, 
with  a  dreary  stolid  gaze  of.  misery  and  woe. 

Eachel  bent  over  him,  and  gently  laid  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Mr.  Jones,  you  must  come  !  "  she  said. 
He  made  no  reply,  he  did  not  rise,  and  when 
she  took  his  hand  to  lead  him  away,  he  yielded 
without  resistance.  She  took  him  to  her  own 
house.  Kindly  and  tenderly  she  led  him,  like 
a  httle  child,  and  a  child  he  seemed  to  have 
become,  helpless,  inert — without  will,  without 
power. 

His  own  home  was  a  wreck,  the  prey  of 
creditors,  who  found  but  little  there,  yet  suffi- 
cient, for  their  claims  were  few,  to  save  him 
from  disgrace.  Kachel  Gray  gave  him  the  room 
where  his  child  once  had  slept,  where  he  had 


RACHEL    GRAY.  293 

come  in  to  look  at  her  in  lier  sleep^  and  fondly 
bent  over  her  pillow  :  he  bnrst  into  tears  as  he 
entered  it ;  and  those  tears  relieved  him,  and 
did  him  good. 

At  the  end  of  two  days  he  rallied  from  his 
torpor  ;  he  awoke,  he  remembered  he  was  a 
man  born  to  work,  to  earn  his  daily  bread,  and 
bear  the  burden  of  life. 

He  went  out  one  morning,  and  looked  for 
employment.  Something  he  found  to  do  ;  but 
what  it  was  he  told  not  Kachel.  When  she 
gently  asked,  he  shook  his  head  and  smiled 
bitterly. 

" It  don't  matter.  Miss  Gray," he  said  ;  "it 
don't  matter.'' 

No  doubt  it  was  some  miserable,  i)Oorly  paid 
task.  Yet  he  only  spoke  the  truth,  when  he 
said  it  mattered  little.  He  lived  and  laboured, 
like  thousands  ;  but  he  cared  not  for  to-day,  and 
thought  not  of  to-morrow  ;  the  Time  of  Prom- 
ise and  of  Hope  had  for  ever  departed.  What 
though  he  should  feel  want,  so  long  as  he  could 
pay  his  weekly  rent  to  Kachel  Gray,  he  cared 


294  RACHEL   GRAY. 

not.  There  is  an  end  to  all  things  ;  and  as  for 
his  old  age,  should  he  grow  old,  had  he  not  the 
parish  and  the  workhonse  ?  And  so  Kichard 
Jones  could  drag  on  through  life,  of  all  hopes, 
save  the  heavenly  hoj)e,  forsaken. 

But  Heaven  chose  to  chastise  and  humhle 
still  further,  this  already  chastised  and  sorely 
humbled  man.  He  fell  ill,  and  remained  for 
weeks  on  his  sick  bed,  a  burden  cast  on  the 
slender  means  of  Kachel  Gray.  In  vain  he 
begged  and  prayed  to  be  sent  to  the  workhouse 
or  some  hospital ;  Eachel  would  not  hear  of  it. 
She  kept  liim,  she  attended  on  him  with  all  the 
devotedness  of  a  daughter  ;  between  him  and 
her  father  she  divided  her  time.  Earnestly 
Jones  prayed  for  death :  the  boon  was  not 
granted  ;  he  recovered. 

They  sat  together  and  alone  one  evening  in 
the  quiet  little  parlour — alone,  for  Thomas 
Gray  was  no  one,  when  there  came  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  the  visitor  admitted  by  Eachel, 
proved  to  be  Joseph  Saunders. 


RACHEL   GKAY.  295 

"  Mr.  Jones  is  witMn/'  hesitatingly  said 
Kacliel. 

"  And  I  just  want  to  speak  to  liim/'  briefly 
replied  Saunders,  "  so  that's  lucky." 

He  walked  into  the  parlour  as  lie  spoke  ; 
Eackel  followed,  wondering  what  was  to  be  the 
issue.  On  seeing  his  enemy,  poor  Jones  red- 
dened slightly  ;  but  the  flush  soon  died  away, 
and  in  a  meek,  subdued  voice,  he  was  the  first 
to  say  ^*  good  evening." 

"  Sorry  to  hear  you  have  been  ill,"  said 
Saunders  sitting  down,  "but  you  are  coming 
round,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  much  better,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"  Got  anything  to  do  ? "  bluntly  asked 
Saunders. 

"  Nothing  as  yet,"  answered  Jones  with  a 
subdued  groan,  for  he  thought  of  Kachel,  so 
poor  herself,  and  the  burden  he  was  to  her. 

"  Well  then,  Mr.  Jones  just  listen  to  me  ?  " 
said  Saunders,  drawing  his  chair  nearer,  "  I 
know  you  have  a  grudge  against  me." 

"  You  have  ruined  me,"  said  Jones. 


296  BACHEL    GEAY. 

"  Pshaw,  man,  'twas  all  fair,  all  in  tlie  way 
of  business,''  exclaimed  Saunders  a  little  im- 
patiently. 

^^  You  have  ruined  me,"  said  Jones  again  ; 
''  but  I  forgive  you,  I  have  long  ago  forgiven 
you,  and  the  shadow  of  a  grudge  against  you, 
or  living  man,  I  have  not,  thank  God  ! " 

^'  That's  all  right  enough,"  emphatically 
said  Saunders ;  "  still,  Mr.  Jones,  you  say  I 
have  ruined  you.  It  isn't  the  first  time 
either  that  you  have  said  so,  and  with  some 
people,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  it  has  injured 
me.' 

"  I  am  sorry  if  it  has,"  meekly  said  Jones. 

"  And  I  don't  care  a  button,"  frankly  de- 
clared Saunders,  "  but  as  I  was  saying,  that's 
your  belief,  your  impression ;  and  to  be  sure 
it's  true  enough  in  one  sense,  but  then,  Mr. 
Jones,  you  should  not  look  at  your  side  of  the 
question  only.  Mr.  Smithson  meant  to  set  up 
a  grocer's  shop  long  before  you  opened  yours  ; 
he  spoke  to  me  about  it,  and  if  I  had  only 
agreed  then,  it  was  done ;    you  came,  to  be 


KACHEL    GRAY.  29*7 

sure,  but  what  of  that  ?  the  street  was  as  free 
to  us  as  to  you  ;  that  I  lodged  in  your  house 
was  an  accident  ;  I  did  not  know  when  I  took 
your  room  that  I  should  sujoplant  you  some 
day.  I  did  not  know  Smithson  had  still  kept 
that  idea  in  his  head,  and  that  finding  no 
situation  I  should  be  glad  to  consent  at  last. 
Well  I  did  consent,  and  I  did  compete  with 
you,  and  knocked  you  over,  as  it  were,  but  Mr. 
Jones,  would  not  another  have  done  it  ?  And 
was  it  not  all  honourable,  fair  play  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  was,'"  sadly  replied 
Jones,  "  and  since  it  was  a  settled  thing  that  I 
was  to  be  a  ruined  man,  I  suppose  I  ought  not 
to  care  who  did  it." 

"  Come,  that's  talking  sense,''  said  Saun- 
ders, with  a  nod  of  approbation,  "  and  now, 
Mr.  Jones,  we'll  come  to  business,  for  I  need 
not  tell  you  nor  Miss  Gray  either,  that  I  did 
not  come  in  here  to  rip  up  old  sores.  You 
must  know  that  the  young  fellow  who  used  to 
serve  in  my  shop  has  taken  himself  off,  he's 
going  to  Australia,  he  says,  but  that's  neither 

13* 


298  EACHEL    GRAY. 

here  nor  there  ;  I  have  a  regard  for  you,  Mr. 
Jones,  and  having  injured  you  without  malice, 
I  shoukl  like  to  do  you  a  good  turn  of  my  own 
free  will ;  and  then  there's  my  wife,  who  was 
quite  cut  uj)  when  she  heard  you  had  lost  your 
little  daughter,  and  who  has  such  a  regard  for 
Miss  Gi-ray,  but  that's  neither  here  nor  there  ; 
the  long  and  short  of  it  is,  will  you  serve  in  my 
shop,  and  have  a  good  berth  and  moderate 
wages,  and  perhaps  an  increase  if  the  business 
prospers/' 

Poor  Eichard  Jones  !  This  was  the  end  of 
ail  his  dreams,  his  schemes,  his  anger,  his 
tln:eatened  revenge  !  And  yet,  strange  to  say, 
he  felt  it  very  little.  Every  strong  and  living 
feeling  lay  buried  in  a  grave.  His  soul  was  as 
a  thing  dead  within  him ;  his  pride  had 
crumbled  into  dust,  as  Mary  would  have  said  : 
his  spirit  was  gone. 

The  humiliation  of  accepting  Joseph  Saun- 
ders' proposal,  and,  however,  strange,  it  was 
certainly  well  and  kindly  meant — Eichard 
Jones  did  not  consider.     He  looked  at  the  ad- 


RACHEL   GRAY.  299 

vantages,  and  found  them  manifest ;  there  lay 
tlie  means  of  paying  Kacliel,  of  covering  his 
few  debts^  and  of  securing  to  his  wearied  life 
the  last  and  dearly-bought  boon  of  repose. 
Awhile  he  reflected,  then  said  aloud  ;  ^^  I  shall 
be  very  glad  of  it,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to 
you,  Mr.  Saunders." 

"  Well,  then,  it's  done,''  said  Mr.  Saunders, 
rising ;  '^  good  night,  Jones,  cheer  up,  old 
fellow.  Grood  night,  Mss  Gray  ;  Jane  sends 
her  love,  you  know.  Sorry  the  old  gentle- 
man's no  better."  And  away  he  departed,  very 
well  satisfied  with  the  success  of  his  errand. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Jones  !  "  exclaimed  Rachel, 
when  she  returned  to  the  parlour. 

^'  Don't  mention  it,"  he  said  with  a  faint 
smile,  '^  I  don't  mind  it,  Miss  Gray." 

"  But  could  you  not  have  stayed  here  ? " 
she  asked. 

"  And  be  a  burden  upon  you  !  that's  what 
I  have  done  too  long.  Miss  Gray." 

"  But  until  you  found  employment  else- 
where, you  might  have  remained." 


300  KACHEL    GEAY. 

"  His  house  is  as  good  as  any  ;  his  bread  is 
not  more  bitter  than  another's/'  replied  Jones, 
in  a  subdued  voice,  "  besides,  now  that  my 
Mary  is  gone,  what  need  I  care.  Miss  Gray  ?  " 
And  as  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  dim,  he 
added :  '^  You  need  not  pity  me.  Miss  G-ray,  the 
bitterness  of  my  trouble  is,  and  has  long  been 
over.  My  Mary  is  not  dead  for  me.  She  is, 
and  ever  will  be,  living  for  her  old  father,  until 
the  day  of  meeting.  And  whilst  I  am  waiting 
for  that  day,  you  do  not  think  I  care  about 
what  befalls  me." 


CHAPTEK    XXII. 

Once  more  Kachel  was  alone.  Once  more 
solitude  and  tlie  silence  of  the  quiet  street; 
slirouded  her  in. 

A  new  life  now  began  for  Eacliel  Gray. 
Like  a  plant  long  bent  by  adverse  winds,  she 
slowly  recovered  elasticity  of  s^^irit,  and  light- 
ness of  heart.  What  she  might  have  been,  but 
for  the  gloom  of  her  youth,  Kachel  never  was  ; 
but  as  the  dark  cloud,  which  had  long  hung 
over  her,  rolled  away,  as  she  could  move,  speak, 
eat,  and  think  unquestioned  in  her  little  home, 
a  gleam  of  sunshine,  pale  but  pure,  shone  over 
her  life  with  that  late-won  liberty.  Her  speech 
became  more  free,  her  smile  was  more  fre- 
quent, her  whole  manner  more  open  and  cheer- 
ful. 


302  RACHEL    GRAY. 

Kacliel  lived,  however,  both  by  taste  and  by 
long  habit,  in  great  retirement,  and  saw  but 
few  people.  Indeed,  almost  her  only  visitors 
were  Kichard  Jones  and  Madame  Kose.  The 
little  Frenchwoman  now  and  then  dropped  in, 
looked  piteously  at  Thomas  Gray,  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  nodded,  Avinked,  and  did  every- 
thing to  make  herself  understood,  but  talk 
English ;  and  Kachel  listened  to  her,  and 
laughed  gaily  at  the  strange  speech  and  strange 
ways  of  her  little  friend. 

Kichard  Jones  was  a  still  more  frequent 
visitor.  He  came  to  receive,  not  to  give  sym- 
pathy. The  society  of  Kachel  Gray  was  to 
him  a  want  of  his  life,  for  to  her  alone  he 
could  talk  of  Mary  ;  he  spoke  and  she  listened, 
and  in  listening  gave  the  best  and  truest  con- 
solation. Now  and  then,  not  often,  for  Kachel 
felt  and  knew  that  such  language  frequently 
repeated  wearies  the  ear  of  weak  humanity, 
she  ventured  to  soothe  his  grief  with  such  ar- 
guments as  she  could  think  of.  And  her 
favorite  one,  one  which  she  often  apphed  to 


RACHEL    GRAY.  303 

herself  and  her  own  troubles  was  :  '^  We  re- 
ceive blessings  from  the  hand  of  God,  shall  we 
not  also  take  sorrow  when  it  pleases  Him  to  in- 
flict it? '^ 

"  Yery  true,  Miss  Gray,  very  true,"  hum- 
bly assented  Kichard  Jones. 

Of  his  present  position  he  never  spoke,  un- 
less when  questioned  by  Kachel,  and  when  he 
did  so,  it  was  to  say  that  ^'  Saunders  and  his 
wife  were  very  kind  to  him,  very  kind.  And  I 
am  quite  happy.  Miss  Gray,"  he  would  add, 
"  quite  happy." 

And  thus  hke  a  hidden  stream  flowed  on 
the  life  of  Kachel  Gray,  silent,  peaceful  and 
very  still.  It  slept  in  the  shadow  of  the  old 
grey  street,  in  the  quiet  shelter  of  a  quiet 
home,  within  the  narrow  circle  of  plain  duties. 
Prayer,  Love,  Meditation  and  Thought  graced 
it  daily.  It  was  humble  and  lowly  in  the 
eyes  of  man  ;  beautiful  and  lovely  in  the  sight 
of  God. 

And  thus  quiet  and  happy  years  had  passed 


304  KACHEL   GRAY. 

away,  and  nothing  liad  arrested  their  mone- 
tonous  flow. 

It  was  evening,  Kachel  and  her  father  were 
alone  in  the  little  parlour.  Thomas  Gray  was 
still  a  childish  old  man,  bereft  of  knowledge 
and  of  sense.  Yet  now,  as  Rachel  helped 
him  to  his  chair,  and  settled  him  in  it,  some- 
thing, a  sort  of  light,  seemed  to  her  to  pass 
athwart  the  old  man's  face,  and  linger  in  his 
dull  eyes. 

"  Father  !  "  she  cried,  ^^  do  you  know  me  ?  " 

In  speech  he  answered  not,  but  it  seemed 
to  her  that  in  his  look  she  read  conscious  kind- 
ness. She  pressed  his  hand,  and  it  appeared 
to  press  hers  in  return  ;  she  laid  her  cheek 
to  his,  and  it  did  not  seem  Hfeless  or  cold. 
Then  again  she  withdrew  from  him  and  said  : 

"  Father,  do  you  know  me  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  searchingly  and  was  long 
silent :  at  length  he  spoke,  and  in  a  low  but 
distinct  voice,  said  :  "  Rachel." 

In  a  transport  of  joy,  Rachel  sank  at  his 
feet,  and  sobbing,  clasped  her  arms  around  him. 


EACHEL    GRAY.  305 

"Never  mind,  Rachel/'  lie  said,  "never 
mind/' 

"  Father,  father,"  she  cried,  "  you  know 
me,  say  you  know  me/' 

But  she  asked  too  much,  it  was  but  a  dawn 
of  intelligence  that  had  returned  ;  never  was 
the  full  day  to  shine  ujDon  earth. 

"  Never  mind,  Eachel,"  he  said  again, 
"  never  mind/' 

But  though  the  first  ardour  of  her  hopes 
was  damped,  her  joy  was  exquisite  and  deep. 
Her  father  knew  her,  he  had  uttered  her 
name  with  kindness,  in  his  feeble  and  im- 
perfect and  cliildish  way,  he  loved  her  !  What 
more  then  was  needed  by  one  who,  hke  the 
humble  lover  recorded  by  the  Italian  poet, 
had  ever 

"  Desired  nmch,  hoped  little,  nothing  asked." 

Somewhat  late  that  same  evening,  Richard 
Jones  knocked  at  Rachel's  door.  As  she 
opened  to  him,  the  light  she  held  shone  on  her 
face,   and   though   he  was    not    an   observant 


306  RACHEL    GRAY. 

man,  lie  was  struck  witli  lier  aspect.  There 
was  a  ilusli  on  her  cheek,  a  light  in  her  eyes,  a 
smile  on  her  lips,  a  radiance  and  a  joy  in 
Rachel's  face  which  Richard  Jones  had  never 
seen  there  before.  He  looked  at  her  in- 
quiringly, hut  she  only  smiled  and  showed 
him  in. 

And  now,  reader,  one  last  picture  before  we 
part. 

It  is  evening,  as  you  know,  and  three  are 
sitting  in  the  little  parlour  of  Rachel  Gray. 
An  autumn  evening  it  is,  somewhat  chill,  with 
a  bright  fire  burning  in  the  grate,  and  lighting 
up  with  flickering  flame  the  brown  furniture 
and  narrow  room.  And  of  these  three  who  sit 
there,  one  is  a  grey,  childish  old  man  in  an 
arm-chair  ;  another,  a  man  who  is  not  old,  but 
whose  hair  has  turned  prematurely  white  with 
trouble  and  sorrow ;  the  third  is  a  meek, 
thoughtful  woman,  with  a  book  on  her  knees, 
who  sits  silently  brooding  over  the  words  her 
lips  have  uttered  ;  for  she  has  been  reading 
how  the  Lord  gives  and  how  the  Lord  takes 


KACHEL    GRAY.  30V 

away,  and  how  we  yet  must  bless  tlie  name  of 
the  Lord. 

The  good  seed  of  these  words  has  not  been 
shed  on  a  barren  soil.  As  Eichard  Jones  sits 
and  dreams  of  his  lost  darling,  he  also  dreams 
of  their  joyful  meeting  some  day  on  the 
happier  shore,  and  perhaps  now  that  time 
has  passed  over  his  loss,  and  that  its  first 
bitterness  has  faded  away,  perhaps  he  con- 
fesses with  humble  and  chastened  heart,  that 
meet  and  just  was  the  doom  which  snatched 
from  him  his  earthly  idol,  and,  for  a  while, 
took  away  the  too  dearly  loved  treasure  of  his 
heart. 

And  Kachel  Gray,  too,  has  her  thoughts. 
^s  she  looks  at  her  father,  and  whilst  thank- 
ful for  what  she  has  obtained,  as  she  yet 
longs,  perhaps,  for  the  full  gift  she  never  can 
possess  ;  if  her  heart  feels  a  pang,  if  repining, 
it  questions  and  says  :  "  Oh  !  why  have  I  not 
too  a  father  to  love  and  know  me,  not  im- 
perfectly, l)ut  fully — completely,'^  a  sweet  and 
secret  voice  replies  :    ^"  You  had  set  your  hear*' 


308  RACHEL    GRAY. 

on  human  love,  and  because  you  liad  set  your 
heart  upon  it,  it  was  not  granted  to  you. 
Complain  not,  murmur  not,  Kachel,  if  thou 
hast  not  thy  father  upon  earth,  remember  that 
thou  hast  thy  Father  in  Heaven  !  " 


THE   END. 


A   LIST 

OF 

IN      GENERAIL     I^ITERATURE, 

PUBLISHED   BY 

D.   APPLETON    &    COMPANY, 

346  &.  34S  Broadway. 

*^*  Complete  Catalogues,  containing  full  descriptions,  to  ie  had  on  appiic<a'ticrti  fe? 

the  Publishers. 


Agriculture  and  Rural  Affairs. 

Boiissingar.ll's  Rural  Ecunom}',         .         .         .     1   25 
The  Poultry  Book,  illustrated,  .         .         .     5  00 

Waring's  Elements  of  Agriculture,  .         .         75 

Arts,  Manufactures,  and  Architec- 
ture. 

Appleton's  Dictionary  of  Mechanics.  2  vols.    .  12  00 
Mechanics'  Magazine.  3  vols,  each,    3  50 
-       ■      ■  3  50 

4  00 
1  00 
75 
1  00 

1  25 
75 

2  00 
4  00 

2  00 
10  00 

3  00 
1  75 
1  50 

1  25 

2  50 
1  00 

4  0 


Allen's  Philosophy  of  Mechanics. 
Aniot's  Gothic  Architecture,     . 
Basanett's  Theory  of  Storms,     . 
Bourne  on  the  Steam  Engine,  . 
Bynie  on  Logarithms, 
Chapman  on  the  American  Rifle, 
Coming's  Preservation  of  Health, 
Cullum  on  Military  Bridges, 
Dow-ning's  Country  Houses,      . 
Field's  City  Architecture, 
Griffith's  Riarine  Architecture, 
Gillespie's  Treatise  on  Surveying, 
Haupt's  Theory  of  Bridge  Construction, 
Henck's  Field-Book  for  R.  Road  Engine 
Koblyn'a  Dictionary  of  Scientific  Terms, 
Huff's  Manual  of  E'lectro-Physiologj", 
Jeffers'  Practice  of  Naval  Gunnery, 
Knai^en's  Mechanics'  Assistant, 
Lafever's  Modern  Architecture, 
Lyell's  Manual  of  Geology, 

"       Principles  of  Geology,  . 
Reynold's  Treatise  on  Handrailing, 
I  Templelon'a  Mechanic's  Companion, 
Urc's  Dict'ry  of  Arts,  Manufactures,  &c. 
Youmans'  Class-Book  of  Chemistry, 
"         Atlas  of  Chemistry,  cloth, 
"         Alcohol,    .... 


1  00 
s.  5  00 


Biography. 


Arnold's  Life  and  Currospnnilence,    . 
Capt.  Canot,  or  Twenty  Years  of  a  Slaver, 
Cousin's  De  Longueville,  .... 

Croswell's  Memoirs, 

Evelyn's  Life  of  Godolphin, 

Garland's  Life  of  Randolph, 

Gilfillan's  Gallery  of  Portraits.  2d  Series, 

HemR-i  Cortez's  Life, 

Hull's  Civil  and  Military  Life,  . 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Daniel  HDona, 

Life  of  H(  nry  Hudson,      .... 

Life  of  Capt.  John  Smith, 

Moore's  Life  of  George  Castriot, 

Napoleon's  Memoirs.  By  DucheSB  D'Abrantes, 

Napoleon    By  Laurent  L'Ardeche,  . 

PiAnoyvW.)  Life.  By  his  Nephew, 

Party  Leaders  :  Lives  of  .Jefferson,  &c.  . 

Southey'i  Life  of  Oliver  Cromwell, 

Wynns'g  Lives  of  Eminent  Men, 

'Webster  s  Life  and  Memorials.  2  vols.     . 

Books  of  General  Utility. 

▲rpletou'  Southern  and  Western  Guide, 
"  Northern  and  Eastern  Guide, 


2  00 
1   25 

1  00 

2  00 
50 

1   50 

1  00 
38 

2  00 


Appletons'  Complete  U.  S.  Guide,   . 

"  Map  of  N.  Y.  City, 

Americ.in  Practical  Cook  Book, 
A  Treatise  on  Artificial  Fish-Breeding,     . 
Chemistry  of  Common  Life.  2  vols.  12mo. 
Cooley's  Book  of  Useful  Knowledge, 
Cast's  Invalid's  Own  Book,       .... 
Delisser's  Interest  Tables,  .... 

The  English  Cyclopaedia,  per  vol.    . 
Miles  on  the  Horse's  Foot,        .... 
The  Nursery  Basket.  A  Book  for  Y''oung  Mothers, 
Pell's  Guide  for  the  Y'oung,       .... 
Reid's  New  English  Dictionary, 
Stewart's  Stable  Economy.        .... 
Spalding's  Hist,  of  English  Literature,    . 
Soyer's  Modem  Cookerv,  .... 

The  Successful  Merchant,  .... 

Thomson  on  Food  of  Animals,  .... 


Commerce  and  Mercantile  Affairs. 

Anderson's  Mercantile  Correspondence,  . 

Delisser's  Interest  Table?, 

Merchants'  Reference  Book,     .... 

Gates'  (Geo.)  Interest  Tables  at  6  Per  Cent. 

per  Annum.  8vo 

"  "        Do.    do.     Abridged  edition 

«'  "        7  Per  Cent.  Interest  Tables, 

"  "        Abridged, 

Smith's  Mercantile  Law, .... 


4  00 

2  00 

1  25 

2  00 
1   25 


Geography  and  Atlases. 

Appleton's  Modem  Atlas.  34  JIaps,  .  .  3  Siy 
"          Complete  Atlas.    61  Maps,      .         .9  00 

Atlas  of  the  ^Middle  Ages.  By  Kccppen,  .  4  50 
Black's  General  Atlas.    71  Maps,      .         .         .12  00 

Cornell's  Primary  Geography,          ...  50 

"        Intermediate  Geography,  . 

"        High  School  Geography,  . 

History. 

Arnold's  Histoiy  of  Rome,        .        .        .        .  2  00 

"       Later  Commonwealth,         .        .  2  50 

"      Lectures  on  Modem  History,       .         .  1  25 

Dew's  Ancient  and  Modern  History,        .  2  00 

Koeppen's  History  of  the  Middle  Ages.  2  ■^ols.  2  50 

"         The  same,  folio,  with  Maps,     .         ,  4  50 

Kohlrausch's  History  of  Germany,  .         .         .  1  50 

Mahon's  (Lord)  History  of  England,  2  voU.    .  4  00 

Michelel's  History  of  France,  2  vols.        .        .  3  50 

"          History  of  the  Roman  Republic,     .  1  00 

Rowan's  History  of  the  French  Revolution,    .  63 

Sprague's  History  of  the  Florida  War,    .        .  2  50 

Taylor's  Manual  of  Ancient  History,        .        .  1  2!i 

"        Manual  of  Modem  History,        .         .  1  50 

"        Manual  of  History.    1  vol.  c<miplete,  2  50 

Thiers' French  Re\olutiun.  4  vols.  Illustrated,  5  00 

Illustrated  Works  for  Presents. 


B.-rant's  Poems.    16  TLluitratioi 


Svo.  cloth,  .  3  50 
cloth,  gilt,  .  4  50 
mor.  antique,  6  00 


D.  Appleton  &  Coiapany's  List  of  Kew  Works. 


Gems  of  BritiBh  Art.  30  Eugravinga.  1  vol.  4to. 

morocco 18  00 

.     1  50 


I  Gray's  Elegy.  Illustrated.  8vo. 
Goldsmith'sDeserted  Village, 


1  50 


The  Homes  of  American  Authors.  With  Illus- 

tratious,  cloth, 4  00 

"  "  "         cloth,  gilt,      5  00 

"  "  "         mor.  antqe.    7  00 

The  H'^ly  Gospels.  With  40  Designs  by  Over- 
beck.  1  vol.  folio.  Antique  mor.        .         .  20  00 

The  Land  of  Bondage.  By  J.  M.  Wainwright, 

D.  D.   Morocco, 6  00 

The  Queens  of  England.  By  Agnes  Strickland. 

With  -29  Portraits.  Antique  mor.       .         .  10  00 

The  Ornaments  of  Memory.  With  18  Illustra- 
tions.  4to.  cloth,  gilt,         .        ,        .         .     6  00 
"  "  Morocco,     .        .  10  00 

Royal   Gems   from   the   Galleries  of  Europe. 

4(1  Engravings, 25  00 

The  Republican  Court;  or,  American  Society 
in  the  Days  of  Washington.  21  Portraits. 
Antique  mor 12  00 

The  Vernon  Gallery.  67  Engrav'gs.  4to.  Ant.  25  00 

The  Women  of  the  Bible.  With  18  Engrav- 
ings. Mor.  antique, 10  00 

Wilkie  Gallery.  Containing  60  Splendid  En- 
gravings. 4to.  Antique  mor.     .         .        .25  (sO 

A  Winter  Wreath  of  Summer  Flowers.      By 

S.G.Goodrich.   Illustrated.    Cloth,  gilt,  .     3  00 

Juvenile  Books. 

A  Poetry  Book  for  Children,  ....  75 
Aunt  Funny's  Christmas  Stories,  ...  50 
American  Historical  Tales,        .         ,         .         .         75 


UNCLE  AMEREL  S  STORY  BOOKS. 

The  Little  Gift  Book.  18mo.  cloth,  .  .  25 
The  Child's  Story  Book.  lUust.  ISmo.  cloth,  25 
Summer  Holidays.  ISmo.  cloth,  ...  25 
Winter  Holidays.  Illustrated.  18mo.  cloth,  .  25 
George's  Adventures  in  the  Country.  Illustra- 
ted.   18mo.  cloth, J.") 

Christmas  Stories.   Illustrated.   ISmo.  cloth,  .  25 

Book  of  Trades, 50 

Boys  at  Home    By  the  Author  of  Edgar  Clifton,  75 

Child's  Cheerful  Companion,     ....  50 

Child's  Picture  and  Verse  Book.  100  Engs.  6U 

COUSIN  Alice's  works. 

All's  Not  Gold  that  Glitters,     ....  75 

Contentment  Better  than  Wealth,    ...  63 

Nothing  Venture,  Nothing  Have,     ...  63 

No  such  Word  as  Fail, C3 

Patient  Waituig  No  Loss,  ....  63 

Dashwood  Priory.     By  the  Author  of  Edgar 

Clifton, 75 

Edgar  Clifton;  or  Right  and  Wrong,      .         .  75 

Fireside  Fairies.   By  Susan  Pindar,         .        .  63 

Good  in  Every  Thing.  By  Mrs.  Barwell,        .  50 

Leisure  Moments  Improved,      ,        ...  75 

Life  of  Punchinello, 75 

LIBRARY  FOR  MY  YOUNG  COUNTRYMEN. 

Adventures  of  Cant.  John  Smith.  By  the  Au- 
thor of  Uncle'  Philip,          ....  88 
Adventures  of  Daniel  Boone.     By  do.     .        .  38 
DawninjTs  of  Genius.     By  Anne  Pratt,     .         .  38 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Henry  Hudson.      By 

the  Author  of  Uncle  Philip,       ...  38 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Hernan  Cortez.   By  do.  38 
Philip    Randoljih.     A   Tale  of  Virginia.    By 

Mary  Gertrude, ?8 

Rowan's  Histosy  of  the  French  Revolution.  2 

vols 75 

Southey's  Life  of  Oliver  Cromwell,         .        .  38 


Louis'  School-Days.  By  E.  J.  May, . 
Louise  ;  or.  The  Beauty  of  Integrity, 
Maryatt's  Settlers  in  Canada,  . 

"         Masterman  Ready,    .        . 

"         Scenes  in  Africa, 
Midsummer  Fays.  By  Susan  Pindar, 


MISS    MCINTOSH  S   WORKS. 

Aunt  Kitty's  Tales,  l-2mo. 

Blind  Alice  ;  A  Tale  for  Good  Children,  . 

Ellen  Leslie  ;  or,  The  Reward  of  Self-Control, 

Florence  Arnott ;   or,  Is  She  Generous?  '. 

Grace  and  Clara  ;  or,  Be  Just  as  well  as  Gen- 
erous,   

Jessie  Graham ;  or,  Friends  Dear,  but  Truth 
Dearer, 

Emily  Herbert ;  or.  Tie  Happy  Home,   . 

Rose  and  Lillie  Stanhope, 


^Mamma's  Story  Book,       .... 

Pebbles  from  the  Sea-Shore,     . 

Puss  in  Boots.  Illustrated.  By  Otto  Specter, 

PETER  parley's  WORKS. 

Faggots  for  the  Fireside,  .... 
Parley's  Present  for  all  Seasons, 
Wanderers  by  Sea  and  Laud,   . 
Wioter  Wreath  of  Summer  Flowers, 


1  13 

1  00 
1  13 
3  00 


TALES    FOR    THE    PEOPLE    AND    THEIR 


CHILDREN. 


Alice  Franklin.    By  Marv  Howitt, 
Crofton  Boys  (The).    By  H      '       " 


^Mar 


Dangers  of  Dining  Out.   By  Mrs.  Ellis,  . 
Domestic  Tales.    By  Hannah  More.  2  vols. 
Early  Friendship,    By  Mrs.  Copley, 
Farmer's  Daughter  (The).    By  Mrs.  Cameron 
First  Impressions.    By  Mrs.  E'llis,    . 
Hope  On,  Hope  Ever  !    Bv  Mary  Howitt, 
Little  Coin,  Much  Care.    Uy  do. 
Looking-Glass  for  the  Mind.    ^lany  plates, 
Love  .and  Money.    By  Mary  Howitt, 
Minister's  Family.    By  Mrs.  Ellis,  . 
My  Own  Storv.     By  Mary  Howitt,  . 
My  Uncle,  the  Clockmaker.    By  do. 
No  Sense  Like  Common  Sense.    By  do. 
Peasant  and  the  Prince.    By  H.  Martineau, 
Poplar  Grove.    By  Mrs.  Copley, 
Somerville  Hall.    By  Mrs.  Ellis,       . 
Sowing  and  Reaping.    By  Mary  Howitt, 

Story  of  a  Genius 

Strive  and  Thrive.    By  do.       .        . 
The  Two  Apprentices.    By  do. 
Tired  of  Housekeeping.    Bv  T.  S.  Arthur, 
Twin  Sisters  (The).    By  Mrs.  Sandham, 
Which  is  the  Wiser?   By  Mary  Howitt, 
Who  Shall  be  Greatest  ?   By  do.      . 
Work  and  Wages.    By  do.      .        .        . 

BECOND   SERIES. 

Chances  and  Changes.    By  Charles  Burdett, 
Goldmaker's  Village.    By  H.  Zschokke, 
Never  Too  Late.    By  Charles  Burdett,  . 
Ocean  Work,  Ancient  and  Modem.  By  J.  H 
Wright, 


Picture  Pleasure  Book,  1st  Series,   . 
"  "  "        2d  Seriea,  . 

Robinson  Crusoe.  300  Plates,  . 
Susan  Pindar's  Story  Book,  .  .  . 
Sunshine  of  Greystone,  .... 
Travels  of  Bob  the  Squirrel,  . 
Wonderful  Siorv  Book,  .... 
Willy's  First  Present,  .... 
Week's  Delight ;  or.  Games  and  Stories-forthe 

Parlor 

William  Tell,  the  Hero  of  Switzerland, . 
Young  Student.    By  Madame  Guizot, 


D.  Appleton  &  Company's  List  of  New  Works. 


Miscellaneous  and  General  Litera- 
ture. 

An  Attic  Philosopher  in  Paris,          ...  25 

Appletons'  Library  iManual,      .         .         .        .  1  25 

Agnell's  Book  of  Chess, 1  25 

Arnold's  Miscellaneous  Works,        ,        .        .  2  f  0 

Arthur.    The  Successful  Merchant,          .        .  75 

A  Book  for  Summer  Time  in  the  Country,        .  60 

Baldwin's  Flush  Times  in  Alabama,          .         .  1  25 

Calhoun  (J.  C),  Works  of.  4  vols,  publ.,  each,  2  (lO 
Clark's  (W.  G.)  Knick  Knacks,                .         .125 

Cornwall's  Music  as  it  Wa.<:,  and  as  it  Te,          .  63 
Essays  from  the  London  Times.  l8t&  2d  Series, 

each, 50 

EwbankB'  World  in  a  Workshop,     ...  75 

Ellis'  Women  of  England,        ....  50 

"      Hearts  and  Homes, 1  50 

"      Prevention  Better  than  Cure,        ,        .  75 

Foster's  Essays  on  Christian  Morals,        .         .  50 

GoIdsTiiith's  Vicar  of  Wakefield,      ...  75 

Grant's  Memoifs  of  an  American  I^ady,   .        .  75 

Gaieties  and  Gravities.    By  Horace  Smith,      .  50 

Guizot's  History  of  Civilization,       .        .         ,  1  00 
Hearth-Stone.   By  Rev.  S.  Osgood,  .         .         .100 

Jiobaon.     My  Uncle  and  I,        ....  75 

Ingoldsbj-  Legends, 50 

Isham's  "Mud  Cabin, 1  00 

Johnson's  Jleaning  of  Words,  .        .         .        .  1  00 

Kavanagh's  Women  of  Christianity,        .         .  75 

Leger's  Animal  Mairnetisin,      .         .        .         .  1  00 

Life's  Discipline.    A  I'ale  of  Hungary-,     .         .  63 
Letters  from  Rome.  A.  D.  13S,          ."       .         .190 

Margaret  Maitland, 75 

Maiden  and  Mairied  Life  of  Mary  Powellj      .  50 
Morton    Montague ;    or   a   Young  Christian's 

Choice, 75 

Macauiay's  Miscellanies.  5  vols.       .        .         .  5  00 

Maxims  of  Washingt-.n.    By  .1.  F.  Schroeder,  1  00 

Mile  Stones  in  our  Life  Journey,        .        .         .  1  00 


MINIATURE  CLASSICAL  LIBRARY. 

Poetic  Lacon  ;  or,  Aphorisms  In  m  the  Poets, 
Bond's  Golden  Maxims,    .... 
Clarke's  Scripture  Promises.    Complete, 
Elizabeth  ;  or,  The  Exil.-s  ..i  Siberia, 
Goldsmith's  Vicar  of  Wakefield,     . 

"  Essays, 

Gems  from  Ameri'-an   P.  f  ts,    . 
Hannah  More's  Private  Dev-ti'  us, 

"  "        Practical   I'iety.    2  v<ds. 

Hemans'  Domestic  Atfertions,  '. 
Hoffman's  Lays  of  the  Huds  n,  tV.-. 
Johnson's  Historj-  of  Rasselas,  . 

Manual  of  IMafvimony,      .... 
Moore's  Lalia  R.iokli,        .... 


"        Melodies.    Complete, 

Paul  and  Virgmia, 

PoUok's  Course  of  Time, 

Pi  re  Gold  from  the  Rivers  of  Afisdom, 

Tliomson'e  Seasons, 

Token  of  the  Heart.  Do.  of  Affecti.  g.  Do, 
of  Reinenibrance.  Do.  ol  Friundsnip 
Do.  of  Love.  Each,    .... 

Useful  Letter- Writer,       .... 

Wilson's  Sacra  Privata,    .... 

Young's  Night  Thoughts, 

Little  Pedliiiston  and  the  Pedlingtoniaiis, 
Prismatics.     Tales  and  Poems, 
Papers  from  the  Quarterly  Review, 
Republic  of  the  United  .^"lates.  Its  Duties,  Ac 
Preservatioa  of  Healtb  and  Prevention  of 


School  for  Politics.  By  Chaa.  Gayerre,  . 
Select  Itali-in  Comcdie's.  Translated,  . 
Shakespeare's  Scholar.  By  R.  G.  White, 
SpectaUjr  (The).  New  ed!  6  vols,  cloth, 
Swett's  Treatise  on  Diseases  of  the  Chest, 
Stories  from  Blackwo...d 


1  00 

75 

75 

.    75 

2  50 
9  00 

3  00 


THACKERAY  S  WORKS. 
The  Book  of  Snobs,  .... 
Mr.  Browne's  Letters, 
The  Confessions  of  Fitzhoodle, 
The  Fat  Contributor, 
Jeames'  Diaiy.  A  Legend  of  the  Rhine 
The  Luck  of  Barry  Lyndon,     . 

Men's  Wives, 

The  Paris  Sketch  Book.    2  vols.      . 
The  Shabby  Genteel  Story,      . 
The  Yellowplush  Papers.    1  vol.  16mo. 
Thackeray's  Works.  6  vols,  bound  in  cloth, 

Trescott's  Diplomacy  of  the  Revolution, 

Tnckerman's  Artist  Life,  . 

Up  Country  Letters, 

Ward's  Letters  from  Three  Contments, 

"        English  Items, 
Warner's  Rudimental  Lessons  in  Music, 
Woman's  Worth,      .... 


Philosophical  "Works 

Cousin's  Course  of  Modem  Philosophy, 
"         Philosophy  of  the  Beautiful,       , 
"        on  the  True,  Beautiful_,  and  Good, 
Comte's  Positive  Philosophy.    2  vols, 
Hamilton's  Philosophy.   1  vol.  Svo. 

Poetry  and  the  Drama. 

Amelia's  Poems.    1  vol.  12mo. 
Brownell's  Poems.    12mo. 
Bryant's  Poems.     1  vol.  Svo.  Illustrated, 
"  "  Antique  mor. 

"  "  2  vols.  12mo.  cloth, 

"  "  1  vol.  18mo. 

Byron's  Poetical  Works.     1  vol.  cloth,     , 

"  "  "  Antique  mor. 

Bums'  Poetical  Works.  Cloth, 
Butler's  Hudibras.  Cloth, 
Campbell's  Poetical  Works.    Cloth, 
Coleridge's  Poetical  Works.    Cloth, 
Cowper's  Poetical  Works, 
Chaucer's  Canterbury  Tales,     . 
Dante's  Poems.    Cloth,     .... 
Dryden's  Poetical  Works.    Cloth,  . 
Fay  (J.  S.),  Ulric  ;  or.  The  Voices, 
Goethe's  Iphigenia  in  Tauris.     Translated, 
GUtillan's  Edition  of  the  British  Poets.  12  v 
published.    Price  per  vol.  cloth, 
Do.     do.     Calf,  per  vol. 
Griffith's  (Maftie)  Poems, 
Hemans'  Poetical  Works.    2  vols.  16mo. 
Herbert's  Poetical  Works.    16mo.  cloth, 
Keats'  Poetical  Works.    Cloth,  12mo. 
Kirke  White's  Poetical  Works.     Cloth,  . 
Lord's  Poems.    1  vol.  12mo.      .        .        . 

"      Christ  in  Hades.    12mo. 
Milton's  Paradise  Lost.    18mo. 

"         Complete  Poetical  Works, 
Moore's  Poetical  Works.    Svo.  Illustrated, 

"  "  "  Mor.  extra,     . 

Montgomery's  Sacred  Poems.    1  vol.  12mo. 
Pope's  Poetical  Works.    1  vol.  16mo. 
Southey's  Poetical  Works.    1  vol.   . 
Spenser's  Faerie  Queene.   1  vol.  cloth,     . 
Scott's  PoeticAl  Works.    1  vol. 

"      Lady  of  the  Lake.    16mo.    . 

"       Marmion, 

"      Lay  of  the  Lust  Minstrel, 
Shakspeare's  Dramatic  Works, 
Tasso's  Jerasalum  Delivered.    1  vol.  16mo. 
Wordsworth  (.W.).    The  Prelude,  . 


Eeligious  Works. 


Arnold's  Rugby  Sch'^ol  .Serm  ms, 
Anthon's  Catechism  on  the  Honiilies, 

"        Early  Catechism  for  Children, 
Burnet's  History  of  the  Refjrmation.  2  vole. 

"       Thirty-Nine  Articles, 


50 

06 

06 

2  50 


D.  Appleton  &  Company's  List  of  New  Works. 


Bradley's  Family  and  Parish.  Sermons,    .        .  2  00 

Cotter's  Mass  and  Rubrics S8 

Coit's  Puritanism, 1  00 

Evans'  Rectory  of  Valehead,    .    _    .         .        .  60 

Grayson's  True  Theory  of  Christianity,  .        .  1  00 

Gresley  on  Preaching, 1  25 

Griffin's  Gospel  its  Own  Advocate,  .         .         .  1  00 
Hacker's  Book  of  the  Soul,       .... 

Hooker's  Complete  Works.  2  vols.           .         .  4  00 

James'  Happiness, 25 

James  on  the  Nature  of  Evil,   .         .         .        .  1  00 

Jarvis'  Re^ily  to  Milner, 15 

Kingsley's  Sacred  Choir,          ....  75 

Keble's  Christian  Year, 37 

Layman's  Letters  to  a  Bishop,           ...  25 

Logan's  Sermons  and  Expository  Lectures,       .  1  13 

Lyra  Apostolica, 50 

Marshall's  Notes  on  Episcopacy,       .         .         .  1  00 

Newman's  Sermons  and  Subjects  of  the  Day,  1  oO 

"          Essay  on  Christian  Doctrine,  .         .  75 

Ogilby  on  Lay  Baptism, 50 

Pearson  on  the  Creed, 2  00 

Pulpit  Cyclopaedia  and  Ministers'  Companion,  2  50 

Se well's  Reading  Preparatory  to  Confirmation,  75 

Southard's  Mystery  of  Godliness,     •        .         .  75 

Sketches  and  Skeletons  of  Sermons,        .        .  2  50 
Spencer's  Christian  Instructed,          .         .         .1  00 

Sherlock's  Practical  Christian,          ...  75 

Sutton's  Disoe  Vivere — Learn  to  Live,     .         .  75 

Swartz's  Letters  to  my  Godchild,     ...  38 
Trench's  Notes  on  the  Parables,       .         .         .175 

"       Notes  on  the  Miracles.        .         ,         .  1  75 

Taylor's  Holy  Living  and  Dying,     .         .         .  1  00 

"       Episcopacy  Asserted  and  Maintained,  75 

Tyng's  Family  Commentary,    .         .         .         .  2  00 

Walker's  Sermons  on  Practical  Subjects,          .  2  00 

Watson  on  Confirmation, OB 

Wilberforce's  Manual  for  Communicants,        .  38 

Wilson's  Lectures  on  Colossians,       ...  75 

Wyatt's  Christian  Altar, 38 

Voyages  and  ;Travels. 

Africa  and  the  American  Flag,         .         .         .  1  25 

Appletons'  Southern  and  Western  Guide,         .  1  no 

"           Northern  and  Eastern  Guide,          .  1  25 

"          Complete  U.  S.  Guide  Book,  .         .  2  00 

"          N.  Y.  City  Map,      ....  25 

Bartlett's  New  Mexico,  &c.  2  vols.  Illustrated,  5  00 

Burnet's  N.  Western  Territory,        .         .        .  2  00 

Bryant's  What  I  Saw  in  California,         .         .  1  25 

Coggeshall's  Voyages.  2  vols.          .         .        .  2  50 

Dix's  Winter  in  "Madeira,          .         .         .         .  1  00 

Hue's  Travels  in  Tanary  and  Thibet.  2  vols.  1  00 

Lavard's  Nineveh.    1  vol.  8to.         .         .         .  1   25 

NJles  of  a  Tlieological  Student.    12mo.  .        .  1  00 

Oliphant's  Journey  to  Katmundu,     ...  50 

Parkyus'  Abyssinia.    2  vols 2  50 

Russia  as  it  Is.     By  Gurowski,        .         .         .  1  00 

"       By  Count  de'  Custine 125 

Squier's  Nicaragua.  2  vols 5  00 

Tappan's  Step  from  the  New  World  to  the  Old,  1  75 

Wanderings  and  Fortunes  of  Germ.  Emigrants,  75 

Williams'  Isthmus  of  Tehuantepec.  2  vols.  8vo.  3  50 

Works  of  Fiction. 

GRACE   AGUILAR's  WORKS. 

The  Days  of  Bruce.    2  vols.  12  mo.   .        .        .  1  50 

Home  Scenes  and  Heart  Studies.   12mo.          ,  75 

The  Mother's  Recompense.    12mo.          .        .  75 

Woman's  Friendship.    l-2mo 75 

Women  of  IsraeL   2  vols.  12rao.      .        .        .  1  50 

Basil.    A  Story  of  INIodern  Life.     12mo.  . 

Brace's  Fawn  of  the  Pale  Faces.   12mo. 

Busy  Moments  of  an  Idle  Woman,  . 

Chestnut  Wood.   A  Tale    2  vols.      .         .         .175 

Don  QiAxotte,  Translated.  Illustrated,     .         .  1  25 

Drury  (A.  II  ).    Light  and  Shade,  ...  75 

Dupuy(A.  E.).    The  Conspirator,    . 

Elten  Parry  ;  or,  Trials  of  the  Heart, 


MRS.    ELLIS    WORKS. 

Hearts  and  Homes ;  or.  Social  Distinctions, 

Prevention  Better  than  Cure,  . 

Women  of  England,         .... 


Emmanuel  Phillibert.  By  Dumas,  . 
Farmingdale.  By  Caroline  Thomas, 
Fullerton  (Lady  G.).    Ellen  Middleton, 

"  "  Grantley  Manor.  1  vol, 

l-2mo. 

"  "  Lady  Bird.  1  vol.  12: 

The  Foresters.    By  Alex.  Dumas,     . 
Gore  (Mrs.).  The  Dean's  Daughter.  1  vol.  12mo. 
Goldsmith's  Vicar  of  Wakefield.    12mo. 
Gil  Bias.  With  500  Engravings.  Cloth,  gt.  edg. 
Harry  Muir.    A  Tale  of  Scottish  Life,     . 
Hearts  Unveiled  ;  or,  I  Knew  You  Would  Like 

Him 

Heartsease  ;  or.  My  Brother's  Wife.    2  vols. 
Heir  of  Redclyffe.  2  vols,  cloth,       . 
Heloise  ;  or.  The  Unrevealevl  Secret.  12mo. 
Hobson.   My  Uncle  and  I.    12nio.    . 
Holmes'  Tempest  and  Sunshine.    12mo.  . 
Home  is  Home.    A  Domestic  Stfiry, 
Howitt  ( Mary).    The  Heir  of  West  Wayland, 
lo.    A  Tale  of  the  Ancient  Fane.    12mo. 
The  Iron  Cousin.    By  Marj-  Cowden  Clarke. 
James  (G.  P.  R.).    Adrian  ;  or.  Clouds  of  tli( 

Mind, 

John ;  or.  Is  a  Cousin  in  the  Hand  Worth  Twc 

in  the  Bush, 


1  M 

75 
50 


75 

75 

2  50 

75 


75 

1  50 

1 
75 
75 

1  00 
75 
60 
75 

1  25 


JULIA  KAVANAGH  Si  WORKft. 


Nathalie.  A  Tale.    1-imo. 

Madeline.    12mo 

Daisy  Burns.    12mo.  .... 

Life's  Discipline.    A  Tale  of  Hungary,    . 

Lone  Dove  (The).   A  Legend,  . 

Linuy  Lockwood.     By  Catherine  Crowe, 

MISS  Mcintosh's  works. 

Two  Lives;  or.  To  Seem  and  To  Be.    12r 

Aunt  Kitty's  Tales.    12mo. 

Charms  and  Counter-Charms.    12mo. 

Evenings  at  Donaldson  Manor, 

The  Lofty  and  the  Lowly.    2  vols.    . 


Margaret's  Home.    By  Cousin  Alice, 
Marie  Louise  ;  or,  Tbe  Opposite  Neighbors, 
Maiden  Aunt  (The).     A  Story, 
Manzoni.    The  Betrothed  Lovers.  2  vols. 
Margaret  Cecil ;  or,  I  Can  Because  I  Ought, 
Morton  Montague  ;  or,  The  Christian's  Choice 
Norman  Leslie.    By  G.  C.  H.    . 
Prismatics.   Tales  and  Poems.  By  Haywarde 
Roe  (A.  S.).    James  Montjoy.     ]-!mo.      . 

"  To  Love  and  to  Be  Loved.  ]2mo, 

"  Time  and  Tide.    12mo. 

Reuben  Medlicott;  or.  The  Coming  Man, 
Rose  Douglass.    By  S.  R.  W.  . 

MISS  sewell's  works. 

Amy  Herbert.    A  Tale.    12mo. 

Experience  of  Life.   12mo. 

Gertrude.    A  Tale.   12mo. 

Katberine  Ashton.    2  vols.   12mo.     . 

Laneton  Parsonage.    A  Tale.    3  vols.  12mo, 

Margaret  Percival.    2  vols. 

Walter  Lorimer,  and  Other  Tales.    12mo. 

A  Journal  Kept  for  Children  of  a  Village  Schc«l, 

Sunbeams  and  Shadows.    Cloth, 
Thorpe's  Hive  of  the  Bee  Hunter,    . 
Thackeray's  Works.    6  vols.  12mo. 
The  Virginia  Comedians.     2  vols.  12mo. 
Use  of  Sunshine.    By  S.  M.  12mo.  . 
Wight's  Romance  of  Aoelard  &  Heloi»e.  12mo. 


1  50 
75 
75 
75 

1  25 
75 
75 


75 

75' 

75, 

1  50 

2  25  I 
1  50  , 

75  I 
1  00 

76 
1  00 
6  00 
1  60 

vs 

18 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE- 


D 


■1^^ 


P 


^ 


^ 


Q^ 


re 


!§^ 


% 


^ 


^ 


LD  21-100m-12,'43  (8796s) 


ivil2U15 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


>  H  ii  !  iiilij 
i  ii  i  I  I 


'Hi  iiii 


'  ,:iif '"" 


HM       1  It      i    ' 


■'*i 


